


Yesterday was plain awful

by zipadeea



Series: Teacher knows best [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Hurt Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Hurt/Comfort, Post Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zipadeea/pseuds/zipadeea
Summary: "WHERE IS LADYBUG? The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just drop."After a terrifying akuma attack, Paris and its heroes are left reeling. All most people want is to know what has happened to their beloved Ladybug and Chat Noir.Marinette and Adrien just want to be okay.Alternatively: Plagg has a whole lot of feelings, Marinette lies and says she's fine every other paragraph, and Adrien cries more in two days than he has in two years.





	1. Yesterday was plain awful

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey all, I’m back with more Miraculous because I’m horrible like that. Anyway, this is a sort-of sequel to my story Be not afraid of greatness. Honestly though, all you need to know is Ms. Bustier knows about her students’ secret jobs. My last story for this was funny, but this one is absolute angst. So sorry about that. Please read and review!

**WHERE IS LADYBUG?** The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just _drop_.

The 24 hour news cycle is every station in Paris replaying Alya’s footage from the akuma attack late last night, an angry university track athlete aptly named Javelot. The irate twenty year old had missed out on the French Olympic team by one place, and he used his newly found powers to take out his displeasure on the whole of Paris.

Cars were turned into hurdles, enlarged shot-puts decimated whole streets, and the Trocadero was turned into a track, where brainwashed citizens were dumped to run in everlasting circles.

So really, a standard akuma attack.

And Ladybug and Chat Noir had been doing fine, according to the footage. Chat honestly looked like he’d been enjoying himself using his pole to vault over the bars popping up at random between buildings. It had been good. They had been winning.

Then Ladybug had been gutted by Javelot’s javelin.

 _Marinette_ had been gutted by Javelot’s javelin.

That was the part the news kept repeating, after warning that viewer discretion was advised. The oversized man with bulging muscles absolutely _impaling_ the red-clad superhero with his wicked javelin throw.

Ladybug’s shocked gasp.

Chat Noir’s enraged roar.

Chat Noir _ripping_ the javelin from Ladybug’s gut, in order to swing her away and save them both from another attack.

Ladybug’s horrible, gurgling scream.

Chat Noir had shown up again five minutes later, wearing the iconic spots and looking like an avenging angel in red. He’d defeated Javelot in short order, demolishing the man and splitting the offending javelin over his knee in absolute disgust before cleansing the akuma and calling out “Miraculous Ladybug!” as the wave of red righted the rest of the destruction.

After that, Chat Noir as Ladybug had quickly vanished, swinging away like his life depended on it.

And nobody knew if the original Ladybug was even alive.

The first thing Caline does is check her phone, then her email. She figures if one of her students is horribly injured in the hospital (or _dead_ ) there’s a pretty good chance she’d hear about it the next day, even if it is the weekend.

A text from her fiancé, an email about an upcoming seminar she’s meant to attend. Another email about elevator alarm testing in her building.

Absolutely nothing about Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The only other thing on the news, besides speculation on the fate of Ladybug, is Parisian’s reactions to the situation. Shot after shot of children walking around Paris dressed as both Ladybug and Chat Noir; tearful previous akuma victims being interviewed about how grateful they are to the duo; a young mother, crying as she holds her no more than three-year-old son, explaining that Ladybug had been hurt saving her little Louis, and she was so sorry, and so very thankful. A vigil, with hundreds of people, had already begun at the Heroes statue. Prayer services for Ladybug were being held at Notre Dame.

Alya Cesaire had become an overnight sensation, appearing on talk show after talk show as an expert on the subject, sharing her footage of the already infamous Javelot fight. This actually gives Caline a bit of relief; if Alya is on TV sharing footage and being interviewed, her best friend in the world is probably fine.

Unless Alya simply doesn’t know yet.

Caline runs to her desk, flipping through drawers and folders until she finds the parent contact sheet for her class this year. She gets halfway through dialing Sabine Cheng’s cell phone number before she stops herself.

This is a horrible and terrible situation, but if Marinette is fine, and Caline goes off, calling her mother to make sure her daughter is okay after _that_ akuma attack, when for all Sabine knew, Marinette was at a friend’s house, or possibly even just asleep in bed, this would out Marinette.

And that is not Caline’s decision to make, no matter how young Marinette and Adrien may be.

Because Caline knows those two wonderful, idiotic children have not told their parents about this particular extra-curricular activity; they hadn’t even meant for each other to know, until that slip-up last Christmas put that to the wayside.

For Caline, it hadn’t been one great revelation, but many tiny coincidences that accumulated into a picture with really only one solution; Paris’s great superheroes were sitting right in front of her for homeroom. The children who saved all their lives on a daily basis had to ask _her_ for a pass to use the restroom.

Caline had gotten very drunk the night she came to that particular conclusion.

Instead, Caline quickly gets dressed and rushes out the door, walking briskly to Tom and Sabine’s boulangerie. It takes her about twenty minutes, and there are plenty of other bakeries closer to her apartment, but today is not about breakfast.

It’s about Marinette.

She walks into the half-filled shop, a little bell tinkling as she opens the door.

“Oh, hello Ms. Bustier!” Sabine Cheng calls to her, smiling brightly. Tom Dupain pops his head in from the back at hearing the familiar name.

“Ms. Bustier! Wonderful to see you!” And Caline breathes for the first time that morning.

“Hello!” Caline tries to say brightly; she thinks she halfway succeeds. “I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by for a croissant.” The Dupain-Chengs jump at the request, pulling out a still-warm croissant for her, refusing to let her pay.

“Oh, no, you’re Marinette’s favorite teacher. You don’t pay here.” And Caline wants to cry.

“Where is Marinette this morning?” Caline asks, trying and probably failing to sound nonchalant.

Sabine grins. “Oh, that lazy girl is back in bed, can you believe it! Came down for breakfast and went right back up to sleep.” She says fondly, and all of the tension in Caline’s body just _vanishes_. Marinette is alive. Marinette is at home in bed. Her parents have seen her, she’s fine, she’s okay, _shesaliveshesaliveshesalive_.

“Maybe she’s hit a growth-spurt, Cherie,” the hulking Tom Dupain says, peeking his head out from the back.

Petite Sabine snorts, “In your dreams, love.”

Oh, God, Caline just wants to cry again. Here these wonderful people are, playfully teasing about their lazy teenage daughter and her growth spurts, and she almost _died_ last night and they don’t know. They don’t know but Caline knows, and she should tell them, they should know, they should know what they came so close to losing and….

“Here, take this, too. Fresh out of the oven,” Tom says, walking over, sounding, for the first time today, somber. Caline accepts the gift, wrapped lightly in wax paper still, and looks down to find a sugar cookie.

In the shape of, and iced to be, a ladybug.

“Everybody gets one of those today,” Sabine says quietly. “I just hope she’s alright. She just, she and Chat Noir both, they do so much. I hope they know how much we appreciate and love them.”

“I’m sure they do,” Caline gasps out, then practically runs from the bakery. Because now she just can’t keep the tears from falling.

000

Monday morning finds Caline in a classroom from what seems to be an alternate universe. The chatty classroom itself in unnaturally somber, Nino isn’t wearing his hat, Adrien is running late, Chloe and Sabrina are wearing black, and Chloe is leaned over Alya’s desk, animatedly, yet r _espectfully_ , discussing the chances of Ladybug’s survival.

“But with the Lucky Charm, it fixes everything else--,”

“Can it really bring someone back to life, though?”

The only normal thing about her classroom is the tardiness of Marinette.

The one thing she wishes wasn’t true today.

Just as she thinks it Marinette walks in, Adrien on her heels. Caline has to sit down, she’s so happy. So relieved. Because it’s one thing to hear it from Marinette’s parents, but it’s entirely another to see the girl walk into her classroom, after repeatedly watching a video of her being impaled and bleeding out all weekend long.

Adrien and Marinette both look pale and exhausted. Haunted. But they are here, and they are alive, and that is all that matters.

“All right, class,” Caline says, standing up again and clearing her throat, “Now that we’re all here, please take your seats and--,”

“Ms. Bustier! How on earth are we supposed to be expected to _learn_ , today of all days!”

“Chloe--,”

“It should be a national holiday! A day of mourning! A week of mourning! Daddy’s already got people planning Ladybug’s funeral, and we’re supposed to--,”

“Chloe.” Caline says sharply, and the girl for once listens. “Go take your seat. Now.”

Because Marinette looks so pale and near tears, and Adrien’s fists are clenched so tight that Caline can see the whiteness of his knuckles from here.

“What happened this weekend was horrible,” Caline says slowly, knowing she has the attention of everyone in her class now. Every single one. “It was horrible, but I’m not going to mourn while there is still hope. Ladybug and Chat Noir risk their lives every day so that we can continue to live ours. It seems like pretty poor repayment to me if we simply let the world stop now.

“We can pray for them, if that is something that speaks to you. We can wish them well, send them good thoughts, we can thank them--,” Caline pauses, struck by sudden inspiration. “In fact, that’s the assignment today. Everyone pull out a free sheet of paper. We’re writing thank you notes to Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Caline pointedly avoids looking at Adrien and Marinette.

“Let them know how much they mean to you, thank them for what they’ve done both personally and for Paris as a whole. You have the whole period.”

And for an hour, her class sits there, quietly, writing page after page of gratitude to Paris’s superheroes. There are sniffles from time to time, and Caline is positive there will be some ink runs and teardrops on many of the pages.

Even Marinette and Adrien write, glancing up and back every few moments and giving each other small, tired smiles.

And suddenly, Caline knows exactly what she must do.

After the bell rings, students begin stapling their letters together and piling them on Caline’s desk before shuffling out the door.

“Adrien, Marinette, could you please stay after class?” She asks quietly, and they stay behind, waiting for a sniffling Rose to be led out the door by Juleka before it finally shuts and the classroom is empty.

“Sorry we were late Ms. Bustier,” Adrien says quietly, and _Jesus_ , they think they’re in trouble for being tardy.

“It was my fault, Adrien was waiting for me, don’t give him a tardy slip, too.” How is it that nobody else has figured out who these children are? These beautiful, wonderful, self-sacrificing teenagers? Because she sees if every single day, with and without those masks.

Caline shakes her head, then stands up and pulls Marinette into a crushing hug, the tears she’d held back finally falling down her cheeks. Marinette hesitates for a moment before returning the hug tightly.

“Ms. Bustier?” Adrien asks quietly, head titled, and Caline pulls him into the hug as well. She knows they’re confused, but they don’t question it either, and God, these kids, they just deserve all the hugs, all the love and support in the world.

When they finally begin to pull back, Caline lets go, because there’s no way in hell she was going to end that hug first. She sniffs, then wipes her eyes, and Marinette and Adrien look so _confused_ , but they don’t say anything yet.

Caline turns to her desk and picks up the stack of thick, tear-stained thank you notes, and holds them out to Marinette and Adrien.

“These are for you.”

The reaction would have been comical, if the situation wasn’t so sad. Their jaws drop, eyes bulging, and Marinette reaches automatically for Adrien’s hand, gripping it tightly.

“What--,”

“How--,”

“ _Why_ \--,”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, and I’m not going to stop you. I’ve known for a while now, but after that episode at Christmas I didn’t want to freak either of you out.”

Marinette lets out a choking noise.

“You’ve been chosen to do something bigger than all of us, and that can be both a blessing and a burden, especially for two fifteen year olds. I know Ladybug and Chat Noir get thanked, but I don’t think Marinette and Adrien get enough of it.

Adrien is crying. Marinette has a hand over her mouth, eyes still wide.

“I just, I saw the news on Sunday and I thought you were dead, Marinette, and--,” Caline can’t hold in the sob. “I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. This is my phone number, and my address,” Caline says, handing each of them a slip of paper. “If you ever need anything, I mean _anything,_ you call me, okay? Any time of the day. A place to transform, somebody on the ground to help with an akuma, help with an injury. Even just a person to talk to.

“You’re both so brave, and so strong, and I’m so very, very proud of you. But you don’t always have to have it together, okay?”

Marinette is crying now, too, then they’re all hugging again, and the second bell has already rung, but Caline has a free period now and God these kids just need a break.

“ _Thank you._ ” They whisper into her shoulders. And all Caline can do is hold them and hope that everything will be okay in the end.


	2. You can say that again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Soooo this is Marinette’s POV for this story. And if I said the first chapter was sad and angsty, hoo boy you’re in for a ride. Warnings for umm blood and violence and character death and trauma I guess? It’s all just pretty sad and traumatic. Please don’t be as mean to me as I’ve been to Marinette and Adrien. I know I’m a hypocrite. Read at your own risk. EEEEP.

“Louis! NO!” the girl screams as she falls in the dirt, the little boy tumbling from her arms and into the middle of the road. Straight into Javelot’s line of fire.

Marinette sees the mother fall, sees the desperate look in her eyes as she tries to claw her way back up and retrieve her child. Her cherubic child in footie pajamas, green eyes welling with tears as he tries to get up and find his way back to his mother.

He probably hasn’t even reached his third birthday.

Marinette is both too far away to pick Louis up and get him out, and too far away to stop Javelot’s throw. Desperate, she does the only thing left she can think of.

She jumps in front of the javelin.

All the breath leaves Marinette in a startled gasp, and she crumples to the side, the direction of her momentum changing after being struck. It’s like being punched in the gut times 1000, coupled with the everlasting zing of a million little papers cuts all concentrated right at her stomach. It’s the ache when her appendix got infected plus an elephant just _sitting_ right on her belly.

It is pain.

And Marinette doesn’t have the breath left to scream.

Chat does though.

“NO!” Adrien roars, and he swoops in out of nowhere, kicking Javelot in the face to give the mother time to run and gather Louis into her arms and sprint away.

“Ladybug!” he shouts, landing next to where she lay, curled up around the eight foot long pole now sticking out of the right side of her gut.

And out of her back.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Adrien takes a moment to gasp, but a moment is all he gets. Because Javelot has turned his attention back to them, a shotput ready to throw in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien whispers, and Marinette doesn’t even have time to wonder what he’s sorry for before the javelin is _ripped_ from her body and Adrien has gathered her in his arms, vaulting them both up and away.

Turns out, Marinette did have enough breath left to scream.

000

The world turns white and dizzy for a little bit. The only thing Marinette can hear clearly is an annoying, wheezing gurgle.

Then, she comprehends that’s her breathing, and begins to realize something is horribly, horribly wrong.

“Marinette? Marinette? Oh my God, please, please, Marinette, open your eyes, please, please.” Adrien is crying, and somebody is punching her in the gut again, and Jesus Christ how does she make this _stop_?

“Adrien, stop—h-hurts,” Marinette gasps out, opening her eyes and weakly pawing at his hands clamped down on her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t Princess. I can’t.” He’s still crying, his tears dripping onto her stomach the way he’s leaned over her, mixing with her blood and flowing down the black spots of her waterproof suit.

Waterproof, but not javelin proof. Seems like a bit of a design flaw for their line of work it you ask her.

They’re on a roof somewhere, and the night is clear, the stars winking in contrast to the full moon illuminating everything she sees. It’s beautiful.

Until she hears the screams and crashes down below, and remembers they’re in the middle of a horrible akuma attack.

“You have t’go,” Marinette mumbles, “He’s gonna kill them, you hafta--,”

Adrien looks like she’s slapped him. “I can’t, I won’t _leave_ you Marinette, how could I--,”

“Tikki, take Tikki. Stop it…Save them,” Marinette wheezes, as she realizes the motivation he needs. “Save _me_ , Chat Noir.”

Adrien bows his head and lets out a quiet sob.

“Claws in.”

“Shit, kiddo, what have you done this time?” Plagg asks quietly, resting a soft hand on her cheek.

“Plagg, will it work? Can I take Tikki and be Ladybug? Will the Lucky Charm--,” Adrien asks desperately, unable to finish his last question.

“You can take Tikki,” Plagg answers, not taking his eyes away from her own. “We have to be fast, though. Once Mari drops her transformation, she’s….well, it’s going to get worse.” Plagg finishes ominously, looking up at Adrien. “Tikki and I can get her earrings out and put them on you. Just hold the wound tight, and once you’ve got the earrings, end this. Fast.”

Adrien nods along, and Plagg looks back at Marinette pointedly.

Ah. So this is the moment for last words.

“A-Adrien, if it doesn’t work--,”

“It’ll work, Marinette. It’ll work, I promise.”

Marinette closes her eyes and juts up her chin. She doesn’t want his last image of her to be tears. “I know, Chaton. I-I know. Just if—my parents. P-please, you gotta, you gotta tell them the t-truth.”

And here come the tears.

“And tell ‘em I love them. S-so much. And I’m sorry.”

“Marinette--,”

“Love you, t-too, mon minou.” And then his lips are on hers and it’s short, so short, because she can hardly breathe and his lips are stained red with her blood, and his white t-shirt and gray joggers are just _drenched_ in her blood and oh God, this is bad. This is so, so bad.

“Don’t die,” Adrien begs, leaning down his forehead to meet hers, “Please, please don’t die.”

“Kid, you gotta do this now,” Plagg admonishes, and Marinette hears a quiet, almost whisper in the back of her head:

_Brace yourself, Marinette._

Silly Tikki, asking her to do the impossible.

Marinette gasps, “Spots off,” and then the world gray and she is choking, and choking, and _dying_ and oh God.

“Hold her down! Don’t let her curl up like that kid!”

“Marinette, oh Marinette, it will be alright! You’ll be alright!”

More pushing and punching and crying and dying and then:

A ring on her finger.

A kiss on her forehead.

“I love you. Tikki, spots on!”

000

Marinette thinks that’s it, it’s over and done and the world has turned to this odd grayish black and all the noises are muted and wow, this must be death.

But then, there’s a soft, tiny hand back on her cheek, and green eyes are peering into her own.

“Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe, that’s it, try to copy me. In,” a high pitched, whooshing breath, “and out,” a whistling exhale. Marinette realizes Adrien’s white t-shirt is wrapped around her torso, and she’s still laying on the rooftop, bleeding out in her favorite pink fuzzy pajamas.

“You with me, kiddo?” Plagg asks softly, his hand still on her cheek.

“Plagg,” Marinette gasps, “Is it—where--,”

“They’ll be back soon, honey. Just relax and breathe, okay?” But Marinette can’t, because it’s getting worse. She’s getting worse. She’s getting numb, and the blood is _all over_ her and she is dying.

She’s dying.

“I don’t wanna die, Plagg. I don’t wanna die.” She desperately confesses, admitting to him the one thing she simply couldn’t tell Adrien.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart, just relax,” Plagg says calmly, nuzzling under her chin. “You’ll be just fine.”

“I want my maman,” Marinette sobs, and God, she’s never going to make fun of old, cliché war movies ever again because they’re all _true._

“Marinette, look up. Look up at the stars,” Plagg tells her, and she does, because what else is there left to do besides listen to him? “Look at the stars. Look how pretty they are. See how beautiful the moon is tonight.” And they are. It is. It’s lovely, one of those nights, without the akuma attack, that she and Chat would take off for the Eiffel tower and just sit and stargaze.

“Relax sweetheart,” Plagg whispers, and his voice is nearly hypnotic. “Relax, and just think about happy things, all the wonderful things in your life. Think about the way the bakery smells when it opens in the morning. Think about how tight your papa squeezes you and how he twirls you around every time he gives you hug. About your maman’s sweet laugh, and Tikki’s pretty eyes…”

Alya’s arm around her shoulder, the way Nino’s head bops when he plays music. Watching the reflection of the sunset on the Seine, and ice cream cones and kittens and…

Adrien’s crooked smile that makes his green eyes squint and his dimples show.

“Plagg…” she says, but it’s barely a breath.

“Just shut your eyes, sweetheart. You’re just going to sleep for a little while. It’s fine.”

Marinette’s last thought, as the stars become her eyes and all sounds fade away, is that she’s glad Plagg is the one with her now. He is comforting. He’s good at this.

He’s done this many times before.

000

000

000

000

000

000

000

And then the world is red, red, red, but it’s not blood, it’s _pink_ and everything is flying and her chest hurts and her throat hurts and—

Marinette opens her eyes with an almighty gasp.

Somebody takes a trembling inhale right beside her.

Adrien is there, shirtless, hands stacked on top of one another and held out oddly from his body. Tikki and Plagg hover nervously next to him. Marinette is lying there, still on the roof, still in her fuzzy pink pajamas with Chat’s ring on her finger, but the blood is just _gone._

Silently, Marinette drops her hands to her stomach, riding up her shirt to feel the smooth skin there.

Nothing.

No scar.

No blood.

Like it never even happened.

Marinette rolls over and retches.

“Shit, shit, Marinette, are you still hurt? Is there blood, do we need to go to the hospital? Jesus, of course we need to go to the hospital, oh my God,” and Adrien is there, rubbing her back, holding back the hair that has fallen out of her pigtails as she pukes up everything in her now healed stomach.

She pukes and pukes, then she just stays there, panting on all fours like a dog, staring at the mess she’s just made and trying to clear her head of everything.

Adrien drags her away gently, sitting up against the wall a few feet away and pulling her in to his lap. He won’t stop staring at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls every time she breathes, watching her eyes blink. Watching her hands shake clutching his white (so _white_ ) t-shirt in her lap.

“Marinette,” he begs, “Marinette, _say something_ , please. Are you still hurt? Do we need to get a doctor? Do you--,”

“Adrien,” she says softly, and the spell is broken and she’s just _bawling,_ crying noisily and messily into his bare shoulder.

And he holds her close and sobs into in hair.

000

She’s still crying when Adrien scoops his arms under her legs and begins to stand up, muttering something about a hospital.

“No,” Marinette gasps around her tears, “No, no. No hospital. They’ll know, they’ll know and I wanna go home. Just take me home. I’m fine, I promise I’m fine. Please Adrien, I wanna go home, I wanna-,”

“Marinette,” he pleads.

“No, home. I want to go home.”

She must sound pathetically desperate, because he listens.

“Spots on,” Adrien says quietly, and then they’re swooping through the shadows of the moon, and leaving the chaotic aftermath of Javelot’s attack behind without an explanation to anyone.

She should be angry with herself, she should be ashamed, because she’s stronger than this. She’s better than this. She’s more than some swooning damsel in distress, and she’s not even hurt anymore, the Lucky Charm has seen to that. She doesn’t need to be saved, to be carried home by a knight wearing _her_ armor.

But Adrien’s squeezing her so tight it’s almost painful, and with her head on his chest she can feel his breath coming out in shuddering gulps that have nothing to do with exertion.

He wouldn’t put her down now, even if she asked.

And she doesn’t.

000

The second they fall through the skylight and land on her bed, Marinette is up, shrugging Plagg out of her collar and pulling off her pajama shirt as she runs for her dresser.

“Marinette?” Adrien asks, still sitting on her bed as Ladybug. “What are you--,” He trails off, but Marinette doesn’t respond, doesn’t care, because she just has to get these pajamas _off._ Off and burned maybe, because the blood may have vanished, but it will never be _gone_ , and Marinette can’t stand it. She strips, and dumps the fuzzy pink pajamas and Adrien’s t-shirt in the trash bin under her desk, and the room is dark, but she’s still standing in her underwear in front of Adrien, and yesterday, an hour ago even, she’d be losing her shit.

It’s funny how little everything matters once the shit has already been lost.

She grabs her robe off the hook and wraps it around herself before heading for the stairs.

“Hey—wait! Marinette, wait—Spots off, Tikki,” Adrien whisper yells, before running across the room and grabbing her wrist, “My lady, _stop_.”

She stops, and turns to stare up at Adrien. He’s shirtless again, and his green eyes are glowing through the dark like a cat’s. His golden hair is mussed, the ends illuminated by the moonlight shining in the window, framing his head like a halo and _Jesus Christ_ all he’s missing is a pair of wings.

“Where are you going?” Adrien asks quietly, loosening his grip on her wrist to grab her hand instead.

“Bathroom,” Marinette responds, finally breaking out of her reverie. “I need to take a shower.” Adrien’s mouth opens and closes at least three times as he decides how exactly to respond to that.

“Don’t you think that can wait ‘til morning, Cherie?” and now she wants to just cry again, because Papa calls Maman cherie, and Adrien’s never called her that before, but she loves him, and he loves her and _shit_ they’re only fifteen and what even is the point of it all?

And she still really needs a shower.

She shakes her head quickly and moves to go down the stairs, but Adrien tightens his grip.

“Adrien, I need to do this, I need to get it _off me,_ ” Marinette desperately tries to explain, and tears are filling her eyes again because she just feels so dirty and lifeless, and all she wants is to pretend a shower can fix it. “I’m fine, I promise, I feel fine,” and actually, her chest kind of hurts, more with every passing moment, but it is vague, a caress practically compared to the pain she’s already felt tonight. “Nothing’s wrong with me, you fixed it--,”

“You don’t know that!” Adrien says frantically, “What if something’s still wrong, what if it wears off, Marinette, we don’t know anything is certain, nobody’s dealt with this, and you, you--,” he stops with a sob.

Oh. _Oh_.

“Just give me five minutes, Chaton. Five minutes. I’ll leave the door unlocked and you come in if I’m not out by then, okay?”

Adrien bites his lip before finally nodding his head and letting go of her hand.

000

Marinette pointedly doesn’t look at the mirror when she enters the bathroom, just dumps her robe and gets in the shower. She doesn’t want to see herself before she’s clean.

She turns on the shower and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs her stomach and legs and chest and arms until everything is red again, but a different kind of red. It hurts, and it’s raw, but she’s clean and the blood has to be gone, doesn’t it? It can’t have survived her disproportionate loofah.

Her chest hurts worse, and when she gets out of the shower she finally looks in the mirror as she dries off. There’s a mark there, standing out and even brighter against her raw skin, and Marinette already knows tomorrow it’s going to be a brilliant black and purple bruise.

When had she even been hit there? There was the javelin, and she hit her head, her arm had been a bit sore before the Lucky Charm, but when did she get hit right in the sternum, right between her boobs? The mark is obviously rounded, like the palm of a hand, bigger than hers, maybe around the size of Adrien’s—

Oh.

Oh _fuck._

Her poor minou.

Marinette wraps her robe back tightly around her, taking care to make sure the mark on her chest is covered. She opens the medicine cabinet and knocks back two ibuprofen, hoping the capsules will end the ache in her chest and reduce the swelling tomorrow. Then, she brushes her teeth, finally getting rid of the horrible vomit taste in her mouth before opening the bathroom door.

Adrien is sitting on the ground across the hall, and looks up as he hears the door open. He’s taken one of his sweatshirts Marinette “forgot” to give back to him out of her drawer to wear.

Marinette should be worried, should be exasperated with him because God, what if her parents had to go to the bathroom? What if they heard her showering and decided to come investigate because why the hell does Marinette need a shower at two in the morning?

Instead she holds out a hand, and Adrien takes it and she helps him up, and begins leading him quietly back up the stairs, back to her room and then to her bed. She watches him curl up on his side before turning to her dresser and pulling out an oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, turning away from Adrien as she changes so he can’t see the darkening mark on her chest from the light of the moon.

She goes back to bed then, slipping under the covers and burying her head into Adrien’s chest as he wraps his arms around her.

“Thank you, Adrien.” Marinette says softly, grabbing one of his hands in both her own and holding it lightly to her heart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Because without Chat Noir, without Adrien, Marinette would be dead right now. Chat Noir defeated Javelot and used the Lucky Charm and let her be healed. But Adrien, _Adrien_ rushed back to that lonely rooftop and found a Marinette without a beat in her chest and breath in her lungs, and brought her back to life.

Thank God for Ms. Bustier’s CPR class during health and fitness week.

Thank God for Adrien Agreste.

Adrien moves his hand from her heart to cup her cheek. “Thank you for waking up.”

000

“Shit!” Marinette wakes to Adrien’s shocked expletive, and turns over to see him checking his phone. Sunlight is streaming through the windows, yet Marinette can’t even recall falling asleep.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Adrien whispers again, and Marinette grabs his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nathalie just texted me, asked where the hell I was. Pere needs to talk to me,” Adrien says worriedly. “Marinette, I--,” and he looks pained, so pained, and Marinette knows there’s not a bone in his body that wants to leave right now.

“Adrien, it’s fine.  It’s fine, just come back when you can.” Then Adrien is kissing her quickly and hugging her tightly before climbing through the skylight, the promises of his return continuously leaving his lips.

“Guess it’s just you and me, kiddo,” A dry voice says, and Marinette looks down to see Plagg curled up on her nightstand. She still has Chat’s ring on and Adrien—

Marinette grabs her phone, ignoring the multitude of messages and missed calls and texts Adrien quickly:

_MDC: Don’t forget to take out the earrings before you talk to your dad._

_AA: Holy shit, thanks._

_MDC: Plagg says hi_

_AA: Tikki misses you_

Confident now in the fact that Adrien will be fine, will keep his promise and be back soon, Marinette turns to the other messages and missed calls on her phone. Some are from group chats with friends from school, a couple are automatic news alerts. Even Nino has called her and texted her a few times.

The overwhelming majority are from Alya.

_AC: OMG Marinette OMG the akuma_

_AC: HAVE YOU SEEN JESUS CHRIST OH MY GOD_

_AC: MARINETTE I THINK LADYBUG ASHDOIVCX_

_AC: Holy shit, I think she might be dead._

_AC: Oh my God. Marinette, I think she’s dead._

_2 missed calls from Alya Cesaire_

_AC: Marinette, I was right there, I got a video of it, it was livestreamed to the blog. I don’t think anyone could have survived that. Fuck, this is horrible._

_3 missed calls from Alya Cesaire_

_AC: people from the news keep calling me already. They wanna interview me about the fight and show my video._

_AC: shit, should I do this???? It seems so wrong._

_AC: I always wanted a big break y’know, but not like this. Never like this. Shit, this is bad._

_AC: please call me when you see this. I really need to talk to you._

_2 missed calls from Alya Cesaire_

_AC: I’m gonna do it Marinette. People need to know what happened before shitty rumors and lies get spread_

_AC: God, I still feel so dirty doing this. Can you call me, please? I know it’s Sunday, but girl, please wake up, I need you right now._

_AC: okay, don’t call me now, I’m in the studio they’re making me shut off my phone. But we have to talk later, okay? Oh God, Mari, I think I’m gonna cry on live television. Shit I’m so sad. This is horrible_

Marinette turns on her little television set and switches the channel quickly to TVi.

“—and that was Alya Cesaire, ladies and gentlemen, creator and editor of the popular Ladyblog, with her thoughts on last night’s akuma attack and the fate of Paris’ beloved superhero, Ladybug.” Nadja Chamack says, face somber. “We turn now to Cecile Francis, reporting live from outside Notre Dame Cathedral.”

“Hello, Nadja. It’s recently been announced by a spokesperson for the Archbishop of Paris that all masses today are being offered in honor of Ladybug. Special intentions for her health and well-being will be made at each mass, and a Prayer service in her honor will be held at four o’clock this afternoon, presided over by the Archbishop himself. Many recognizable faces are expected to be in attendance this afternoon, including Paris’ own Mayor Bourgeois, who plans to give a statement on the situation after the service. Back to you, Nadja.”

“Thanks, Cecile. In other news, a candle-lit vigil has begun at the Heroes statue in Place des Vosges. Hundreds of Parisians have gathered to mourn and pray together, leaving flowers, toys, and notes at the foot of the statue in honor of both Ladybug and Chat Noir. We go now to--,”

Marinette turns off the TV, unable to watch anymore.

Shit. They all, they all think she’s dead. All of Paris, they are _grieving_ her praying and crying and leaving flowers like she’s Princess Diana or something but she’s just _Marinette_ and—

“Marinette, dear, are you awake? Papa’s taking his break right now, and I’ve made breakfast if you want to join,” Maman calls up the stairs.

“Coming!” Marinette answers in a strangled voice, taking a deep breath before rushing down the stairs. Maman is pouring juice at the table, and Papa in sitting on the couch, apron still on, mug of coffee clutched in his hands as he watches the news intently.

Marinette wraps her arms around Maman’s waist from behind, and Maman lets out a soft chuckle and pats her head before Marinette leaves and cuddles on the couch next to her father. He wraps an arm around her and continues to watch the news.

“—and, as stated before, it is not recommended small children watch this clip. Viewer discretion is advised.”

Then Marinette feels like a ghost as she watches _herself_ jump in front of little Louis, _herself_ being impaled by the javelin and falling to the ground. _Herself_ horribly wailing when Chat Noir rips out the javelin to keep them both from being flattened by the shotput.

Watches Chat Noir’s terrified face and desperate cries.

Watches Adrien as Ladybug trounce the akuma and fly away like his life depends on it.

Well, her life did.

But then, they’re pretty much one in the same at this point, aren’t they?

Marinette can’t help the little gasps she lets out as she watches the clip, and the horrified tears that fill her eyes and fall down her cheek.

“Oh, honey, did you not know about Ladybug?” Papa asks softly, his arm around her tightening.

Marinette shakes her head. “No, no I knew,” understatement of the year, “Alya’s been texting me. I just, well, I hadn’t actually watched it yet. It’s so awful.”

Because it is, it is, it is awful. It was awful and it still is.

“Poor Ladybug,” Papa says, shaking his head. “They all seem to think she must be dead, since she hasn’t shown back up again. I hope she’s alright, there’s gotta be a chance. That Lucky Charm has worked plenty of miracles.”

“Poor Chat Noir,” Maman says solemnly, standing behind the couch, a hand on both their shoulders, “If anyone’s had a worse night than Ladybug, it’s him.”

And Marinette can’t stand it anymore.

“I’m gonna go back to bed, I’m still tired,” she says quickly, and rushes up the stairs before her parents can even blink. She didn’t eat breakfast, but she’s not hungry, and it’s already ten o’clock, but she is still _so_ tired and she can’t listen to her parents anymore, mourning and pitying her like the rest of Paris because they don’t know.

They know what happened last night, and yet they don’t at all.

She is a terrible, terrible daughter.

000

Marinette wakes to a soft hand on her shoulder, and hopes that Adrien has finally returned.

Instead it is Maman, sitting on the edge of her bed and looking worriedly into her eyes, and Marinette can’t find it in herself to be at all disappointed. How could she ever be disappointed with Maman?

“Darling, are you alright? Are you getting sick? It’s almost one in the afternoon, I didn’t realize you were still asleep,” Maman says, putting her soft, small hand to Marinette’s forehead. Marinette leans into the touch before shaking her head.

“No, Maman, I’m fine, just tired.” Maman frowns.

“I was just coming up to tell you we’ve closed the bakery early. Papa and I are leaving soon so we can get a seat at the prayer service, if you’d like to join us.” There’s a lump blocking Marinette’s throat, so she just shakes her head again.

“Marinette, what’s going on? You’ve been so odd this morning. Is this about Ladybug?”

Jesus Christ, what a loaded question.

Throat still blocked, Marinette nods and Maman sighs sadly. “I know you know her, what with that class of yours attracting akumas like honey attracts flies. It’s scary, and it’s sad what happened, but I don’t have anything good or true to tell you now, and I’m sorry, baby.” Maman sighs again. “I think we can just hope, and be happy we had her for as long as we did, if she really is gone.”

“Do you think she’s gone?” Marinette asks quietly.

“I don’t know, Darling. I really don’t. I hope not.” And then Marinette is crying again, and _Jesus_ where are all these tears coming from? She’s going to be dehydrated soon if she keeps this up.

“Oh, my Marinette, what happened? What’s wrong?” Because this is her mother, and she may not know _why_ but she always knows _when_ something is troubling Marinette. Her mother can read her emotions like a book, and will gently pry and cajole until Marinette finds herself spilling her deepest darkest secrets.

But Marinette can’t let that happen now. 

So she decides, for once, to give a little.

“Maman, I was there.”

“What do you mean, you were there?”

“I-Alya texted me last night when the akuma attack started, and I just-I get so worried about her when she goes off to film these things. You and Papa were already in bed so I just, I went to help.”

“ _Marinette_ \--,”

But Marinette interrupts, must get all of her half-truths out now, before she folds, “I didn’t make it to Alya, but I was there, I saw, I watched when--,” and Marinette can’t continue, because she’s seeing it all again, flashing back to her perspective: all the breath leaving her lungs as the javelin pierced her, Adrien’s horrible scream, laying there, dying, staring at the stars…

And Maman is gaping at her desperately, looking so much like Louis’ mother in that moment that Marinette nearly chokes.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Marinette, why on _earth_ would you do that? It’s so dangerous, baby, I already worry myself sick about Alya chasing those things around, why would you--,”

“I’m fine, Maman. I promise, I’m fine, I’m not hurt.”

Not anymore.

“It was just so _scary_ ,” Marinette whispers. “And I keep thinking about Ladybug, about her family and her friends and how sad and worried they’ll be and--,” Marinette screws up her face, refusing to cry again. “It’s so sad, Maman.”

“Yes, my darling, it is,” she says forlornly, leaning down to kiss Marinette’s forehead. “Marinette, you can’t go after akumas like that, especially at night. I understand that sometimes you get caught up in the attacks, and that’s unavoidable, but baby you _can’t_ run off looking for trouble. Alya’s not my kid, I can’t tell her what to do, but you are _mine_ , and if I were to lose you….” Maman’s voice becomes strained.

“Oh Maman,” Marinette says softly, and sits up to give her a hug.

Maman seems unaware of the fact that Marinette makes no promises.

000

After Maman and Papa leave for Notre Dame, Marinette finally gets out of bed and gets dressed. She brushes her teeth, showers again for good measure, and goes to the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich she forces herself to eat half of.

Marinette goes up to her desk then, and tries to finish her Physics homework. She got some of the problems done Friday in study hall, and she still has a few left. But, halfway into the first one, she starts thinking about the way her momentum shifted when the javelin struck, and the force behind the throw and the angle of the javelin and—

Marinette goes to sit on her balcony instead.

Plagg accompanies her, watching her intently as she checks her phone.

_AC: Marinette, you there? Can you talk now?_

_2 missed calls from Alya Cesaire_

_AA: Mari, I’m so so sorry. Pere decided today was a good day to start acting like an interested parent and I can’t get away. I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as fast as I can. I miss you._

Marinette sits on the messages for a bit before responding.

 _MDC:_ _Now’s not a good time Alya, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you at school tomorrow._

_MDC: I miss you, too. My parents are at the prayer service ‘til five. If you come after, window’s always open._

Then she turns off her phone, because she doesn’t want to look at either of their responses. From her balcony, she has a clear view of the Cathedral. Even from here, it’s obvious that Notre Dame is packed full, all the doors open and a flock of people fifty deep peering in from outside every entrance.

“Plagg, I need Tikki. This can’t keep going, it’s madness. I have to tell everyone I’m alive.”

“Why?”

Marinette whips her head around to stare at Plagg, hovering next to her and calmly looking off toward the Seine.

“What do you mean, _why_? It’s cruel. These people are grieving and I’m not dead. It’s like I’m some fucked up version of Tom Sawyer.”

Plagg flies over to face her, his green eyes hard. “You don’t have to do this, sweetheart. You can let Ladybug be dead.”

Marinette’s mouth falls open in complete and utter shock. _What?_

“Ladybugs and Chat Noirs, they’ve done it before. They’ve gotten sick or hurt, or had babies. Sometimes one of them died, and the other didn’t want to continue. Sometimes they were just ready to be finished. This isn’t me saying Tikki needs a new Ladybug, Mari,” Plagg adds quickly, catching her shocked and probably hurt expression. “You’re a good Ladybug, sweetheart, one of the best really.”

“Then why--?” Marinette sputters, and Plagg sighs.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir, they’re important, don’t get me wrong. But kiddo, Marinette and Adrien are important, too. You’re so, so important, and I--,” he sighs again. “I’ve lived a long time, Marinette. I’m tired of seeing bad things happen to important people.”

“So I should just hand off the mantle to someone else?” she wants to scoff, means to scoff, but the words come out as a croak instead. “I should stay back and watch another little girl die instead of me? Because she’ll become important, too, Plagg, I’m sure they all do.” And it’s just this cycle, this horrible terrible cycle because there’s always going to be some kind of Hawkmoth in the world and Ladybug and Chat Noir will always be needed and—

And Plagg, Plagg and Tikki will be there to watch, and to give advice, and to love them and give them the powers.

But in the end, it’s up to Ladybug and Chat Noir. And the people under the masks don’t live forever.

Marinette sees Plagg’s eyes shining before he turns away from her, staring at the sun’s reflection on the river. Shit, _shit_ how many fucking people will she make cry today?

Marinette reaches out and plucks Plagg out of the sky and cups him in her hands, like she does to Tikki. On any other day, Marinette knows Plagg would be furious, would absolutely rage against being man-handled but—

Today he doesn’t say a word, just settles in and looks up at her.

“You’re important, too, Plagg.” Marinette states quietly.

“Mari-,” he scoffs, but she interrupts.

“No, listen. I-I was terrified, after Adrien and Tikki left last night, and I was in a lot of pain, and I think I said some things that were probably horrible to hear.”

Plagg’s silence is answer enough.

“I was so scared, Plagg, and you probably were, too, but you were calm. You were so calm. And because of you I just laid there staring at the stars, thinking about my favorite things and it was…..it was peaceful. You made me feel safe. By the time I—when it—I really did think I was just going to sleep, Plagg.” Marinette lets out a shuddering breath, and looks away from Plagg, toward the river again.

“I felt safe and loved. You let me die with dignity, and now I know just how precious a gift that is. Thank you, Plagg. Thank you. I just—you needed to hear that, because I don’t know if anyone’s ever been able to tell you before.”

Plagg rushes up and kisses her cheek, his small tears falling down her skin where they touch.

“You’re a treasure, Ladybug.” He’s said it before, in that sarcastic, biting way of his, but this time, this time Marinette knows he’s been honest all along.

000

Maman and Papa come back from the service teary-eyed, and all three sit around the kitchen table and eat the soup that Marinette has made, an apology of sorts for her odd behavior and her newly discovered absence during the akuma attack. Her parents seem to appreciate the gesture, and by the end of Sunday dinner with her family, Marinette is still scared and tired and anxious, and she’s not _good,_ not even okay, really, but she’s starting to feel _better_ now, and that makes all the difference.

She goes upstairs after dinner and finishes her physics homework and packs her bag for school the next day. Honestly, Maman would probably let her skip if she asked, but Marinette needs to go. She needs at least something in her life to be normal. Plus, she’s already promised Alya to talk tomorrow, and based on the scathing/worried texts Marinette opened after she finally turned on her phone again, she’s going to need to do some damage control.

Adrien hasn’t texted her back, and she’s getting pretty worried, readying herself to make Plagg transform her into Chat Noir when there’s a knock on the skylight above her bed.

She gives him a small smile before motioning him inside, and Ladybug opens the window and lets himself fall, whispering “spots off!” during the descent, and landing on the bed next to her as Adrien in blue plaid pajamas.

“Marinette I’m so sorry! I’ve been gone all day. How are you feeling, are you still okay? I’ve been so worried. It was horrible, I missed you so much,” he says quickly, desperately pulling her into a hug. “I’m sorry, Marinette, I’m sorry, I just left you here and I promised to come back and I never did and—,”

“Adrien,” she says quietly, pulling back from the hug and grabbing his hand. “Adrien, it’s fine, it’s okay, I’m okay, just tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, Marinette, it was so odd. It’s like Pere had a bad dream or something last night and he woke up determined to be a ‘good father’,” Adrien explains, adding air quotes at the end. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He sat there and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner with me, he made me practice piano while he watched, he rescheduled a photo shoot I was supposed to have Tuesday to this afternoon, and then just stood there, hovering and directing the photographer like an awful pageant mother.

“It felt like I was in the Twilight Zone all day long. Pere’s just, he’s been so different and distant since Maman--,” Adrien chokes out. “But today he was _nice_ and I wanted, I wanted to enjoy it, but then I was just so suspicious, wondering what on earth he wanted, and I missed you, and I was so worried about you and--,”

“Oh Minou,” she says softly, and pulls him into a hug again. “I’m sorry.”

Adrien chuckles humorlessly, “What in the world are you sorry for, Mari? I should still be apologizing to you after today, after last night--,”

Marinette cuts him off, “Let’s just agree that this weekend has actually literally been a clusterfuck for both of us and stop apologizing.”

And, for the first time since last night, Marinette sees Adrien smile.

It’s small, and kind of watery, but it’s there, and Marinette feels herself smile back. Adrien’s grin grows at the sight.

“How’ve you been today? Are you okay? Well, are you better than you were?” Adrien asks, and God, this boy may have exactly the same brain as she does and she really, really loves him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m better than I was,” Marinette answers softly. “My parents could tell something was up today, though.”

“What did you do?”

“I told Maman Alya texted me about Javelot and I went to help.”

Adrien chokes. “What?”

Marinette sighs, and curls herself in to Adrien’s chest. “Yeah, I mean, it really wasn’t a lie, technically, and they just, they could tell how upset I was about the whole thing. Apparently witnessing the local superhero being impaled should be enough to traumatize me.”

Adrien mumbles something indistinguishable.

“What’s that?” Adrien blushes, but repeats:

“It was enough to traumatize me.”

Marinette opens her mouth, the response nearly automatic, _necessary_ , when:

“No more apologies, Cherie, didn’t you say?”

“Okay.” They just lay there for a while in her bed, curled around each other, both really _breathing_ for the first time since last night.

“Hey, Marinette?” Adrien asks finally, and she can feel him looking down at her. She doesn’t move, just hums noncommittally into his chest. “Maybe we should tell your parents.”

That gets Marinette to look up.

“I mean, I would say Pere, too, but I just, with the Miraculous book and how weird he’s been lately, I don’t think we should trust him now. But, Mari, your parents, maybe they should know. It could make everything easier, and there would be someone besides a slightly crazy 181 year-old-ex-monk who _knew_ about all of this and—and I know it’s selfish, but when I thought you were g-gone--,” Adrien takes a deep breath, “You wanted me to tell them the truth. And of course I would have, I would have, but God, Marinette, even just thinking about telling them, about being the only person in the world who knew the truth, who knew all of _you_ until I told them was absolutely terrifying.”

Marinette groans.

“Adrien, I’m not saying I don’t agree. I do, I do, and I’m sorry, no listen you need to hear it, I’m sorry I put that on you. That was pretty mean of me, no matter the circumstances, and it was so much to ask in an already terrible situation.

“But Chaton, I don’t think I can. Today, when I told Maman about just going to help Alya, she freaked. Adrien, she completely freaked. Wanted me to promise never to do something like that again, went on this spiel about how horrible it would be to lose me, and—and they don’t know Adrien. I really, really don’t think they even suspect, based on how they reacted to the news at breakfast.”

“Oh.” Adrien says sadly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s okay--,”

“No, it’s not.” Marinette says firmly. “It’s not, and you’re right, we need somebody else. We need help Adrien. We need to have backup in case something like this ever happens again. We can’t go on like this forever.”

Adrien sighs.

“We’ll figure it out, Mari.”

000

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has never been a very religious person.

But the next day at school, when Ms. Bustier gives them hugs and hands both of them the classes’ thank you notes, tells them how _proud_ she is of them and that they are not alone;

Well, it feels a whole lot like all their prayers have been answered.

It feels miraculous.

000

 “In other news, at six o’clock this evening, Mayor Bourgeois will be holding a press conference outlining the schedule of events for the funeral of Ladybug this Friday. It’s expected that the day be turned into a bank holiday, and public schools will be cancelled in order to allow all Parisians to attend the processional and memorials taking place throughout—,”

Marinette turns off the TV.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not waiting for the next akuma, I’m just gonna go for a patrol now, Adrien.” Marinette scoffs. “Tikki, spots--,”

“Wait! Wait. Marinette, are you sure you’re ready?” he asks, looking up at her from his seat on the couch. “It’s okay if you’re not, you don’t have to be.”

Marinette nods vigorously. “I refuse to be present for my own funeral, Adrien, especially when I’m fully capable of telling them I’m fine!” Marinette jumps up from his couch and walks toward the wall of windows.

“Whoa, whoa hey wait!” Adrien yells, jumping up from the couch and his homework to grab her hand. “Don’t do this yet.”

Marinette takes a deep breath and looks back at him. She thought he was past this, that they’d made it through, and yeah they weren’t good, but they were better, and they were working on being apart and trusting and Ms. Bustier was being so helpful and—

“Minou, I’m good. I promise I’ll be okay.”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, no it’s just, my lady,” and that sly smirk that’s completely devious and all Chat Noir is _back_ , and Marinette feels like she hasn’t seen it for years, even if it’s only been a few days, and wow she loves it. “I’ve got a better idea.”

000

“And so, Paris, it is with a heavy heart that--,”

Ladybug and Chat Noir simultaneously drop down to the platform behind Mayor Bourgeois.

“Hello Mr. Mayor--,” Adrien begins.

“We’re very sorry to _bug_ you--,” Marinette continues, and Adrien is beaming.

“But we’ve got a bit of an announcement of our own.”

And all of Paris explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow, this chapter has been a monster, in many different ways. I hope you liked it, sorry if you didn’t. I know Tikki doesn’t show up much, and I love Tikki, I promise; depending on the reception of this chapter, I may consider adding another installment to this story, of Adrien and Tikki’s day with Hawkdad. And I’ve never really seen much Plagg and Marinette interaction, so that was interesting. In my head, Plagg is basically Haymitch from Hunger Games.  
> Also, I think Marinette has super wonderful parents, but there’s no way in hell they’d be okay with their teenage daughter fighting supervillains on a daily basis, powers or not. I don’t think Dupain-Chengs are stupid and oblivious, but I also truly don’t think they know about Marinette being Ladybug yet, so that balance was kind of hard to find. I tried to do it justice.


	3. But that's not now, that's then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I started an Adrien and Tikki chapter. And it's gonna happen, I promise. But then Hawkmoth got in my head and he wouldn't go away. Honestly idk if this even completely fits in this story, but I'm gonna post it here. Also, warning for character death. 
> 
> To preface this, I don't like Gabriel Agreste. I think he's a bad person and I don't condone his actions. But I wanted more of an explanation for them than he's crazy and he wants his wife back. So I wrote one, and it's sad. If one of you feels bad for Hawkmoth after you read this, I achieved my goal. *posts chapter* *runs away screaming*

Gabriel Agreste is thirty-three years old when his wife tells him she is pregnant. It’s not really an old age to become a father, but it’s also not exactly young. It is, however, a young age to become a fashion mogul, which is what he is on the cusp of becoming when his wife drops this bombshell.

She is a beautiful actress, he is a designer, and they are both at the height of their respective careers when Emilie tells him.

She is excited, ecstatic really, and she reassures him that they can do it. They will do it all. They’ll be good parents and she’ll still finish her movie and he’ll still finish his next line and everything is going to be wonderfully perfect and they will be so, so happy.

And he believes her.

Until the doctor tells them that it is _twins._

It’s not about the money; they have plenty of money. It’s about their lives, their image. He and Emilie are about to go from fame and champagne and glamour to exhaustion and bottles and puke and Gabriel can’t handle it. Because it’s not just when they’re infants.

It’s eighteen years.

It’s eighteen years of doctor’s appointments and parent-teacher conferences and school plays and illnesses. Of bath times and meals and angsty teenage attitude and homework. Eighteen years of birthday party clowns and campy family vacations to Disneyland and kissing cuts and picking noses.

Times _two_.

The fact that there’s going to be two of them _at the same time_ is what does Gabriel in. Because for some reason, with one baby, it was all going to be fine. He and Emilie were going to do it all, they’d be the suave parents with the well-behaved infant who travelled and worked and strapped their baby to their chests and took it along for the ride.

One wouldn’t be easy, but it seemed possible.

Two seems like a nightmare.

Of course, it doesn’t have to be a nightmare. They could hire a nanny (or two or even _three_ ) and tutors and cooks and maids. They could keep their lives and shuffle their children from one employee to the next, see the kids for half an hour every night and maybe sometimes on the weekends and it would all work out.

But Emilie doesn’t want that.

Emilie is buzzing with nerves but also _elation,_ so ready is she to meet their children. She reads all the books, sets up the nursery, and sits every night in her rocking chair, gently rubbing her stomach and talking to the children she already loves so dearly. Their children will never be shuffled by Emilie. She’ll have trouble ever letting them out of her sight.

So Gabriel keeps his thoughts (worries, terrors, selfish fears) to himself, and goes along for the ride.

000

Gabriel Agreste is thirty-four when his car is totaled by a drunk driver.

The man runs a red light and slams into Emilie’s side of the car, the window shattering and the door concaving with a horrible _crunch_.

The last thing Gabriel hears is Emilie’s petrified scream.

The last thing Gabriel does is throw out his arm across her stomach, trying futilely to protect his wife and the children he never wanted.

000

Gabriel Agreste’s children are born over two months before they are due.

He wakes in the hospital the next day with a broken leg, a shattered arm, and a horrible concussion to learn that his twins have been born and his family is dying.

Emilie is in surgery; the babies lie in incubators, covered in tubes and wires, underdeveloped and so, so _small_.

The girl is older, the nurse tells him with fake cheerfulness as she wheels him down to see them, but the boy is longer and a bit heavier.  

They’re still both smaller than the doll Emilie’s niece used to drag around.

“Bridgette and Adrien,” Gabriel says quietly once he’s been settled between the incubators, staring at the ‘Baby Girl/Boy Agreste’ tags on the sides and remembering the evenings Emilie spent, painstakingly looking through books and making lists that she shoved under his nose before they both found their favorites. “Their names are Bridgette and Adrien.”

Because maybe they won’t have a mother, maybe they’ll never leave this hospital, but they will have names.

They will have him.

000

The doctors put Emilie in an induced coma. Gabriel has another surgery to put in arm back together. Bridgette gets stronger, pawing Gabriel’s hand and squeezing his pinky every time he sticks it through the hole.

Adrien doesn’t.

Adrien is having trouble breathing. Adrien’s gag reflex hasn’t developed enough. Adrien is yellowed with jaundice, he’s anemic, he’s not gaining weight.

Gabriel spends a lot of time listening to the heart monitor, watching his son’s tiny chest rise and fall, and praying for the first time in years.

Then, a new doctor sweeps in, gently pulling Bridgette from her incubator and settling her in Adrien’s. Gabriel watches with tears in his eyes as Bridgette wraps her arm around Adrien’s neck, and both babies’ breaths deepen.

It is the first of many times Gabriel learns his son does not like to be alone.

000

Adrien gets better with Bridgette by his side.

Bridgette (tiny, strong, precious Bridgette) gets pneumonia.

Gabriel holds her in his arms when she dies.

She is ten days old.

000

Adrien plummets after that, seemingly unwilling to keep going in a world that doesn’t contain his sister, and Gabriel, gaping hole in his heart still fresh and weeping, works on hardening his wounded heart and preparing himself for a life alone.

Then Emilie wakes up.

And she sits, and grabs Adrien’s tiny hand and talk and talks and talks to him for days on end the same way she has for seven months, sitting in that damn rocking chair every single night, and slowly Adrien gets better.

It is the first of many times Gabriel learns his son will always need his mother more than his father.

000

Emilie takes time away from Adrien only to hold Bridgette, gently combing back her hair and kissing her hands and feet and face.

“What color are her eyes?” Emilie asks softly, and Gabriel’s barely able to swallow the lump in his throat to respond.

“Blue.” He answers, remembering the soft, newborn blue of his daughter’s eyes. Maybe someday they would have turned green like Emilie’s, didn’t the books say that could happen? It didn’t really matter now. Bridgette never had the chance to change. The chance to grow. “Her eyes are blue.”

000

They bury Bridgette in the back garden, next to, not in, the Agreste family mausoleum. Emilie wants their daughter to see the stars.

The coffin is so small it physically hurts to look. The have a small headstone made, proclaiming Bridgette the beloved daughter she is, and Emilie scrupulously plants half a dozen rosebushes to surround the plot.

Emilie puts a lock of Bridgette’s fine blonde hair in a locket and never takes it off.

And mothers the child God let her keep.

000

Gabriel Agreste never drives a car again. Maybe his wife doesn’t want nannies and tutors and maids, but they will have a fucking chauffeur because he will never fail his family so horribly ever again.

Gabriel Agreste ensures the monster who drunkenly ran the red light and ruined their lives gets locked up for _years_. He testifies at the trial, brokenly choking out his side of the crash. Tearfully describing the birth of his children, how his daughter fucking died in his arms and she would be here today, still in his arms if not for the wretch sobbing into his hands as his lawyer gapes at him.

The man doesn’t stand a chance.

Gabriel Agreste only wears long sleeves now. His left arm is covered in scars, held together by stiches and staples and plates. He has a slight limp that Emilie assures him is only noticeable if one is looking for it; she playfully tells him he should start carrying a cane, saying he’d look dignified.

Gabriel Agreste does not enjoy holding his son. He’s not horrible, he does it, just as he feeds Adrien and changes the nappies and helps bathe him. He is present and involved and he doesn’t abandon his wife to care for their son alone. But he doesn’t enjoy it, doesn’t light up inside the way he knows his wife does every time she holds Adrien close. Because every time he sees their son, every time Gabriel holds him, all he sees is Bridgette dying. He remembers that there was another, there should be two, and once upon a time Gabriel hated that fact.

And now, _now_ , Gabriel would give anything in the world to have both babies safe in his arms.

000

Gabriel Agreste is thirty-nine when he starts having panic attacks.

They’ve just chosen a school for Adrien to attend. It’s a private school, not even five minutes from home. The teachers are lovely, the classrooms are bright and happy and clean, and class size is small.

Emilie gushes to Adrien about how much fun he’s going to have, how wonderful it is to make new friends and learn new things. Adrien holds both their hands as they walk in to meet the teacher night, and tentatively smiles and lets go of Gabriel’s hand to shake the sweet Ms. Bernard’s.  

Emilie finds Gabriel in their bathroom late that night, pulling out his hair and unable to breathe.

It takes him a while to convince Emilie homeschooling Adrien is a good idea. But as she watches Gabriel completely spiraling, unable to even fathom letting Adrien go, she concedes. With conditions of course, to ensure that Adrien still learns and has friends and doesn’t become hopelessly spoiled or socially awkward.

But she does concede.

And Gabriel is able to breathe again.

000

Gabriel is forty-seven when his world falls apart for the second time.

Emilie is in Tibet when she disappears, gone on a routine trip to work at and check on the orphanage she founded years ago. Gabriel flies to Tibet himself, calls in the army, embassies, private investigators, anything and everything with the slightest chance of discovering what horrible tragedy has befallen his wife.

But she is gone without a trace.

Desperate, he turns away from the practical to more…. _mystical_ solutions. He visits strange monks in the mountains, psychics and witches and shamans in dirty corner shops.

He does not find his wife.

But he finds a book. And a little kwami named Nooroo.

000

Gabriel questions himself often. He knows what he does is wrong, the way he forces Nooroo to manipulate others at their weakest moments, the way he disrupts the lives of everyone in the city, spreading terror and chasing after two children in spandex.

More than that, in his pursuit Gabriel has abandoned what he has left. Now more than ever, Nathalie has stepped up and begun running his company. His creativity and imagination are spent producing campy, ironic supervillains to traverse Paris and steal _jewelry_ instead of designing his own clothes and shoes and accessories and living what he once proclaimed was his passion.

He barely even sees Adrien anymore.

He knows he is a horrible and selfish person. Never in his adult life has he tried to convince anyone otherwise. He wants that miraculous wish. He wants his wife _back_.

But, more than that, Adrien needs his mother back.

Gabriel was never the better parent, hardly even a good parent, even at his best. Adrien has always needed Emilie more than he ever needed Gabriel. Gabriel doesn’t care what happens to him, he can do this one thing for his son. He can find her, he can _save_ her.

Gabriel won’t fail his family again.

000

Of course, then he discovers one of the children in spandex is his _son_ , and the world falls apart for the third time.

If he were a braver man, he would confront Adrien, and take the ring away and be the parent he should be, telling his son that it’s _dangerous_ and _don’t do this_. He would be honest without being completely honest, and his son would live and Gabriel would be halfway to Emilie living again, too.

But Gabriel is a coward. He will always love his son, but he wants, he needs Adrien to love him, too. And if Adrien ever finds out what he has done, who he is…Hate may not be a strong enough word.

So Gabriel continues. He does his best to keep the akumas ridiculous and fun and, well, safe. He wants the miraculouses, but he doesn’t want his son _dead_.

It’s a difficult balance to find.

But for a while, it works.

000

A person like him was never meant to wield Nooroo.

For one, all miraculous users are meant to be chosen, not bought from a wrinkled old man with no teeth in a shack at the foot of a mountain for exorbitant amounts of foreign currency. But, beyond that, from what little Gabriel can glean from the miraculous book, Nooroo’s powers are meant for the good of society. Those who wear his brooch are meant to be empathetic, selfless, and exemplary judges of character. Nooroo miraculous use throughout history is the most difficult to track, because of how challenging it is for Nooroo to find someone good and truly worthy of the power.

Nothing about Gabriel Agreste has been and ever will be worthy.

It is this fact Gabriel remembers as he feels Javelot winding his arm back, ready to launch the javelin and kill the toddler who has fallen into the street. Usually, Gabriel has some level of control over the akuma victims, and manipulates them to do as he pleases in unfortunate and/or dire situations. But Javelot is _strong_ and he is so _angry_ and Gabriel is not worthy. He’s lost control. The little boy is going to die.

Gabriel sees the green eyes, and all he can think about is little three year old Adrien, playing tag with his mother in the rose bushes.

Then Ladybug jumps into line of fire.

Gabriel watches his son kick Javelot in the face, and he tries futilely to stop Javelot from throwing the shotput at Adrien and the now thoroughly impaled Ladybug, but he fails again.

He watches Adrien rip the worryingly long javelin from Ladybug’s stomach, watches his _terrified_ son scoop the tiny girl into his arms.

Watches Ladybug instinctively sling her arm around his neck as tight as she can. And for a moment, just a moment, Gabriel sees her face.

He sees her startled, almond-shaped, upturned _blue_ eyes. And all he sees is Bridgette.

He has killed her.

Just like Bridgette.

000

Gabriel sits up all night waiting for Adrien to come home. At nine o’clock, Nathalie enters his office for their morning check-in (because his assistant never gets a day off and Jesus Christ, he really is a monster in every sense of the word, isn’t he?). Gabriel pointlessly asks her if she’s seen Adrien, and he watches her surreptitiously send a text on her phone before leaving the office to look.

It takes Adrien another hour to get home. He rushes into Gabriel’s office in a rumpled sweatshirt and grey cotton pants, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hands.

“Where have you been?” Gabriel asks, and he’s worried and guilty and heartbroken, but the words come out cold because he’s also an asshole and that’s how his voice just seems to work, no matter how awful the situation.

Adrien gulps. “I went to mass,” he says softly, and Gabriel realizes it’s a bulletin for St. Joseph’s down the road clutched in his hands, and maybe it’s not sweat on his forehead, but holy water from when he crossed himself.

It doesn’t explain Adrien’s clothes or the fact that his bed was empty all night, but if Adrien had a normal father that cover story would absolutely work.

So Gabriel lets it go.

“What did you need to talk about, Père?” Adrien asks, after a long and uncomfortable silence, and yes, he had told Nathalie he needed to speak to Adrien about something important. For now though, all Gabriel can think about is he can’t remember when Adrien stopped calling him Papa and started calling him Père and it bothers him very, very much.

Gabriel swallows the lump in his throat and puts his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. It makes his shirt sleeve ride up, revealing the beginnings of the thick and shiny scars that will never disappear.

Adrien cocks his head and bites his lip, both confused and wary.

“I wanted to apologize.” Gabriel finally says, and the shock on Adrien’s face nearly kills him. “I haven’t—I haven’t been here for you nearly as much as I should, Adrien. I’ve never been a very good father,” and Gabriel leaves no room for a pause. He couldn’t bear it if Adrien protested that point.

He also couldn’t bear it if Adrien didn’t protest that point.

“You deserve better than me,” Gabriel rushes on, “I don’t know if I can ever be what you deserve. But I love you, Ade,” and Gabriel watches tears fill Adrien’s eyes, because nobody in the world has called him that since his mother disappeared and wow, he’s a horrible parent. “I love you more than anything, and everything I do, everything I am, it’s for you.”

It’s as honest as he can be.

When Adrien hugs him, it feels nearly foreign, because it’s been so long since they’ve hugged each other. But Gabriel holds him tightly, and when his son’s tears begin to soak his shoulder, Gabriel just breaks in half.

He is a terrible person.

He is a terrible father.

…

…

…

Which is why Adrien needs his mother back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon here that Adrien's middle name is Felix because his mom says he's lucky after all that. And then, y'know, it's Felix and Bridgette and...yeah. It just didn't fit well anywhere in the story. Also, this is my explanation as to why Hawkdad was so angry on Adrien's birthday. He doesn't like it much.


	4. I don't need anything but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien comes to terms with the path his life has taken. And does his best to keep Marinette alive along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Adrien's chapter. And there's way less Tikki than I expected, which sounds weird because I wrote it, why wouldn't Tikki be in it if I wanted her in it but....it just didn't happen. So sorry if you were really looking forward to that. The format for this chapter is kind of different, but it should all make sense by the end. I hope. Anyway, thanks for reading, this is most likely going to be the last chapter of this story. Your comments have all been so kind and thoughtful.

“Plagg, do you see her?” Adrien asks urgently, staring up at the kwami cautiously floating a few feet above Adrien’s head, staring out to the street before coming down to rest on Adrien’s shoulder.

“She’ll be here, kid,” Plagg says calmly, “She told you she would and she will.”

Adrien groans, and covers his face with his hand, taking a seat on the school steps. “She’s late.”

“She’s always late.”

“Yes, but what if something _happened_ , Plagg? What if she fell, what if she’s hurt, what if--?”

Plagg pinches his neck. “She is _fine_ , Adrien. I promise you, she is physically absolutely fine, and you just saw her less than two hours ago. It’s you I’m more worried about, kid, you haven’t slept in two days--,”

“Marinette!” Adrien yelps, jumping up and running to the street corner where he’s just spied his favorite pair of pigtails, “You’re here!” Adrien says breathlessly, stupidly, pulling her in to a tight hug.

“Adrien!” Marinette gasps, gripping the back of his shirt to keep herself upright, “Shit, were you waiting for me? I’m sorry, now we’re both late. I fell back asleep after you left, I dunno why I’m so tired….” Marinette trails off and Adrien feels his heart clench.

He imagines coming back to life is a rather draining experience.

“C’mon, we might be able to still make the bell if we hurry,” Marinette says grabbing his hand and dragging him along, up the stairs and through the schools’ hallways, bypassing the locker room and heading straight for Ms. Bustier’s door.

Ms. Bustier gives a small, tired smile when she sees them.

“All right, class,”Ms. Bustier says as they both finally shuffle into the classroom and their seats, “Now that we’re all here, please take your seats and--,”

“Ms. Bustier!” Adrien hears Chloe cry from behind him, where she stands at Alya’s seat, “How on earth are we supposed to be expected to learn, today of all days!”

“Chloe--,” Ms. Bustier interrupts, but the distraught Chloe will not be stopped.

“It should be a national holiday! A day of mourning! A week of mourning! Daddy’s already got people planning Ladybug’s funeral, and we’re supposed to--,”

“Chloe.” Ms. Bustier says sharply, and the girl for once listens. “Go take your seat. Now.”

Adrien looks back to see Marinette’s chin jutted out, her eyes shining, and he feels his fists clenching, molars grinding in the back of his mouth.

Stupid Chloe.

Stupid Paris.

Stupid, stupid funeral.

000

_“Sir,” Nathalie says softly, not wanting to interrupt Adrien’s practice. “I was wondering if you’d made a decision about my proposal to move up the new Miraculous line?”_

_That certainly gets Adrien’s attention._

_He continues to play though, eyes on his music but one ear open to Pere and Nathalie’s conversation._

_“Don’t you think it’s a bit…insensitive, Nathalie?” Pere answers, and when the hell has Pere ever cared about being_ insensitive _?_

_“On the contrary, sir, I think it would be appreciated. Now more than ever people want the chance to honor Ladybug, and what better way than the clothes they wear? I have a team on stand-by, ready to do Adrien’s photoshoot for the fall line this afternoon. Then, we can use Tuesday for the Ladybug shoot. It’ll be too early for magazines and full advertisements, but we’ll be able to post on the website, right in time for Ladybug’s funeral--,”_

_Adrien’s hands clamp down on the keyboard with an unceremonious clang. He feels Tikki jump in his pocket._

_“What?” Adrien whispers, looking back at the startled Nathalie and Pere._

_“That’s what they’ve been saying on the news,” Nathalie says softly, “Ladybug’s funeral is probably going to be Friday or Saturday of this week. The mayor’s expected to make an announcement about it in the next couple days.”_

_A funeral._

_There’s going to be a funeral for Ladybug._

_They don’t need one, Adrien tells himself desperately, it’s stupid because she’s fine, she’s safe, you saved her, she’s alive—_

_But they almost needed a funeral._

Marinette _almost needed a funeral._

_And suddenly Adrien can’t breathe._

_He sits there at the piano stool, in front of Nathalie and Pere, bent completely over, clutching his hair and hopelessly, frantically trying to find his breath, sucking and wheezing like a damn fish out of water._

_Like Marinette on that rooftop, dying in her fuzzy pink pajamas._

_“Adrien,” a voice says softly, and he opens his eyes to see Pere crouched in front of him, blue eyes wide. “Hey, hey, breathe. C’mon, you can do it, just like me, in--,” and Pere sucks in an exaggerated breath as he places a hand gently on Adrien’s shoulder, “and out,” letting his breath out with a whoosh, air breezing through Adrien’s bangs like Pere had done playfully when Adrien was little._

_It take a few minutes, but slowly, slowly, Adrien calms down, his breathing settling to match Pere’s. Pere just crouches there until it happens, hand still on Adrien’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gently along Adrien’s collar bone._

_Adrien idly wonders if his father has been replaced by some kind of ironic pod person._

_“She’s not dead.” Adrien says haltingly, not looking into Pere’s eyes. “She’s not, Ladybug’s fine. I know it I--,” and his breath catches. There’s no reason to say it here, now, especially to Nathalie and Pere of all people, but Adrien needs to hear it. Adrien needs to hear it out loud that Ladybug is alive and Ladybug is fine and a funeral is useless because she will be back._

_Adrien’s one of two people in the world who can honestly say it. And Marinette isn’t here right now._

_“Ladybug is alive.” He says firmly, then Adrien looks up. Nathalie’s nose is scrunched up, like she wants to feel sorry for this poor, delusional little fanboy but she doesn’t know quite how._

_Pere looks dumbfounded._

_“If you say so, son,” Pere says softly, squeezing Adrien’s shoulder before letting go and standing up, using a finger to push his glasses back up his nose, his features falling back into those of his normal, cool indifference. “Give the green light for the Miraculous line, Nathalie. Adrien, be ready to go for the photoshoot in an hour. I’ll be accompanying you.”_

000

“What happened this weekend was horrible,” Ms. Bustier says slowly. Understatement of the fucking year. “It was horrible, but I’m not going to mourn while there is still hope. Ladybug and Chat Noir risk their lives every day so that we can continue to live ours. It seems like pretty poor repayment to me if we simply let the world stop now.

“We can pray for them, if that is something that speaks to you. We can wish them well, send them good thoughts, we can thank them--,” Ms. Bustier pauses, as if struck by sudden inspiration. “In fact, that’s the assignment today. Everyone pull out a free sheet of paper. We’re writing thank you notes to Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Adrien hastily turns his shocked yelp into a cough. He feels Marinette’s foot kick the bottom of his seat and smiles softly.

“Let them know how much they mean to you, thank them for what they’ve done both personally and for Paris as a whole. You have the whole period.”

Adrien pulls a pen and sheet of paper out of his bag, shooting a quick, sad grin at Marinette as he turns. She bites her lip ruefully and winks, pointing her pen, his pen, _the_ pen from the Shakespeare exam in the library all those months ago at him, and something in Adrien’s heart seems to settle.

Marinette is here. And they aren’t good, or even okay. But they can get better.

They will get better.

Adrien uncaps his own pen at stares at the paper for a moment. He puts a star at the top of the page, so Ms. Bustier will give him credit for the assignment, but doesn’t read it because it is private, as she had explained to the class on the first day:

_“Writing can be a good outlet. And sometimes the things one needs to express are very private, very personal thoughts and feelings. For assignments done in class or at home simply for participation purposes, feel free to put a star at the top. I give you my word, I’m not going to read those.”_

_My Dear Lady,_

Adrien stares at the words for about five minutes straight, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because there is simply too much to say, and a flimsy sheet of paper and these scrambled expressions of gratitude and love in his head and heart just don’t seem like nearly enough.

He can hear the scratches and scribbles of his classmates, furiously and continuously writing their thanks to Ladybug and Chat Noir.

To Marinette and him.

Adrien brushes a hand across his wet eyes and turns back to the page, ready to once again thank Marinette for the thing above all he is most grateful for, the thing he will never stop being grateful for, and will never, ever be able to repay:

_Thank you for waking up._

000

_“Thank you, Adrien.” Marinette says softly, grabbing one of his hands in both her own and holding it lightly to her heart. To the red mark Adrien is sure hurts terribly, the mark that is bound to bruise. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_The small part of Adrien that hasn’t been out of his mind with terror since the Javelot attack wants to just_ scream _at Marinette, wants to yell and rage and say “Yes, you should be fucking sorry, how could you do this? How could you do this to me?”_

_Because, really, how dare she? How dare Marinette Dupain-Cheng deliberately put herself in such danger? How dare she let herself be hurt, let herself die just for the sake of one snot-nosed baby?_

_How could she just forsake Paris like that, doesn’t she know just how important she is to them? Doesn’t she know just how important she is to_ him _?_

_How could he ever do this without her?_

_Adrien moves his shaking hand from her heart to cup her cheek. “Thank you for waking up.”_

_Marinette falls asleep soon after that, curled up into Adrien’s chest, clutching the sweatshirt he’d stolen back from her like a lifeline. Adrien wraps his arms around her, running his hand gently through her slowly drying hair for hours, listening to her breathe. Tikki settles in his hair to watch her, too; he feels her small teardrops land on his scalp._

_He stays awake all night long to make sure her breathing never stops_.

000

Ms. Bustier turns to her desk and picks up the stack of thick, tear-stained thank you notes, and holds them out to Marinette and Adrien.

“These are for you.”

Adrien feels his jaw drop. Marinette reaches automatically for his hand, gripping it tightly. Somebody knows. Oh God, someone _knows_.

Not the Dupain-Chengs, not Nino or Alya or Pere or even Nathalie.

Ms. Bustier figured it out.

“What--,”

“How--,”

“Why--,”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, and I’m not going to stop you. I’ve known for a while now, but after that episode at Christmas I didn’t want to freak either of you out.”

Marinette lets out a choking noise. They _had_ always wondered why it took Ms. Bustier so long to get back to the library during their exam.

“You’ve been chosen to do something bigger than all of us, and that can be both a blessing and a burden, especially for two fifteen year olds. I know Ladybug and Chat Noir get thanked, but I don’t think Marinette and Adrien get enough of it.”

Adrien can’t stop the tears that leak out of his eyes.

“I just, I saw the news on Sunday and I thought you were dead, Marinette, and--,” Ms. Bustier can’t hold in a sob, and Adrien’s about ready to sob, too. “I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. This is my phone number, and my address,” Ms. Bustier says, handing each of them a slip of paper. “If you ever need anything, I mean anything, you call me, okay? Any time of the day. A place to transform, somebody on the ground to help with an akuma, help with an injury. Even just a person to talk to.

“You’re both so brave, and so strong, and I’m so very, very proud of you. But you don’t always have to have it together, okay?”

Oh God. She knows, and she wants to _help_ them.

Somebody wants to help them.

Marinette is crying now, too, then they’re all hugging again, and the second bell has already rung, but nobody makes a move to let go.

 _“Thank you_.” They whisper brokenly. Adrien can feel it in the slump of Marinette’s shoulders that she is just as happy, just as _relieved_ as he is. Maybe it isn’t their parents, but an adult knows and she _understands_. She’s proud of them and she’s grateful for them and—

And maybe things will get better a little faster than Adrien originally expected.

000

A few minutes later, Ms. Bustier hands them both tissues and writes them passes for history class. Marinette gives Ms. Bustier another hug before heading to the door, giving Adrien a questioning glance when he doesn’t follow.

“Go ahead, I-uh-gotta get my bag,” Adrien says. His bag is on the ground by his seat, not ten feet away. Marinette, bless her wonderful soul, smiles softly and questions nothing, just closes the door behind her.

“Adrien, is there something else…?” Ms. Bustier asks quietly, looking concerned.

Adrien’s heart is pounding fast, and he feels so sick. But he needs to do this, he needs to say it. Because even before she knew it, Ms. Bustier was helping them. Was saving their lives, even if it was indirectly.

“Thank you, Ms. Bustier,” Adrien whispers, and Ms. Bustier lets out a soft, confused laugh.

“I think you already did, sweetheart. If anything, I should be thanking you again--,”

“No, you don’t--,” Adrien takes a deep breath before looking up into Ms. Bustier’s eyes. “The Lucky Charm didn’t work all the way, Ms. Bustier. It healed Marinette’s wound, but when I got back, she wasn’t, she didn’t…” and Ms. Bustier gasps, tears in her eyes again. Adrien looks down.

“I had to give her CPR, and if you hadn’t taught us in class, I-I wouldn’t have…you see it on TV but it’s not the same, I probably would’ve killed her or it wouldn’t have worked, but you taught me how and she--,” Adrien lets out a sob. “Thank you, Ms. Bustier.”

Ms. Bustier wraps him up in a hug again, and Adrien can feel it as his tears just _soak_ the shoulder of her cardigan. They stand like that for a while, Ms. Bustier hugging him and running a hand through his hair until he finally calms down. Ms. Bustier leads him over to a chair and crouches in front of him.

“Has she seen a doctor, Adrien?” Ms. Bustier asks quietly. Adrien shakes his head, biting his lip.

“No, she wouldn’t let me take her after, she just kept crying and saying she wanted to go home and I-I couldn’t, she was so upset, Ms. Bustier, and I was too, and I know I should’ve but—but--,”

“Shhh, shhhh, I understand, sweetheart. I understand.” Ms. Bustier lets out a deep breath. “Do you know how long she was down, Adrien?”

Adrien clenches his eyes shut.

“A minute. Maybe two. It felt like forever, but I don’t think it could’ve been much longer than that.” Ms. Bustier nods.

“Are her ribs okay?” Adrien bites his lip.

“I didn’t break any, I know I didn’t. She has a mark there, it’s gotta be a bad bruise now, but she won’t let me see. She puked after she woke up, but I’m not sure, she might have just been shocked by it all…” Adrien trails off, remembering how Marinette had gone from statue-still to a flurry of movement and writhing and retching all in a matter of a second.

The most horribly wonderful second of his life.

“I’ll talk to Marinette at lunch,” Ms. Bustier finally says. “My father’s a doctor. He might be able to stop by and just give her a check if I ask, but I think, I think she’ll be okay, Adrien. She seems fine, sweetheart. You saved her.”

Then why oh why does Adrien still feel so terrified?

000

_“Miraculous Ladybug!” Adrien yells around the dread blocking his throat, before swinging away so fast the unfamiliar yo-yo nearly slips through his fingers. He makes it back to the rooftop where he’s left Marinette in thirty seconds, somersaulting into his landing to avoid a crash before sprinting across the roof to Marinette._

_The blood is gone._

_Adrien pauses for a second to marvel at the fact. The blood that had been puddled around Marinette, that had thoroughly stained his shirt and his pants and her fluffy, pink polka-dotted pajamas; the blood that had stained her teeth and lips and chin._

_It’s all gone._

_Marinette is just lying there quietly, eyes closed, hand resting on her stomach like she’s sleeping._

_Like she wasn’t just trying futilely to hold her blood inside her body._

_Plagg is cuddled up to the side of Marinette’s neck, eyes closed, and for a moment Adrien thinks he’s trying to comfort her._

_“Kid--,” Plagg whispers brokenly. “Oh, kid, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so_ sorry--,”

_Plagg is trying to find her pulse._

_“No.” Adrien says simply, falling hard to his knees beside her. “No. She’s—no. I promised her, Plagg, I promised it would work.”_

_Then Adrien is moving like he’s been possessed, doing instead of thinking, flicking Plagg out of the way, checking Marinette’s airway, tilting back her head and laying her arms flat._

_He has the presence of mind to whisper “Spots off,” before beginning compressions; in his desperation, with the strength of Ladybug behind him, he’s more likely to shatter all of her ribs than do anything to save her life._

_1 2 3 4 5 6—_

_“No!” Tikki wails beside him, “No, no, no Marinette! Marinette, please! Wake up, oh you must wake up! My Marinette--,”_

_11 12 13 14 15—_

_“No, Plagg, let me go, LET ME GO! MARINETTE! No, oh no, oh no—please,_ please _Marinette,”_

_24 25 26 27 2 29 30._

_Hold her nose._

_One breath._

_Two breath._

_1 2 3 4 5—_

_“No, Marinette, oh my Marinette, you can’t leave. You can’t leave me. Plagg, I can’t do this again, I can’t, Icanticanticanticant—,”_

_14 15 16 17 18 19—_

_“Tikki, don’t, you can’t, you know you can’t--,”_

_“She’s worth it, Plagg, you know she is, she’s_ everything _. I can’t watch this again--,”_

_“So you’ll let them deal with Hawkmoth alone? You’ll abandon millions to save one girl who probably won’t forgive you for it?”_

_“I hate you. I hate you so much you rotten--,”_

_26 27 28 29 30._

_Hold her nose._

_One breath._

_Two breath._

_1 2 3—_

_Marinette opens her eyes with an almighty gasp._

_And Adrien breathes again._

000

Adrien finally leaves Ms. Bustier’s classroom, pass for history still clutched in his hand as he makes his way to the locker room to pick up his textbook. He expects to find Marinette there, waiting for him and possibly seeking an explanation for his delay. He is correct to assume she’s still in the locker room.

Surprisingly, though, she is not alone.

“Do you know how many texts messages I left you, Marinette? Seventy-six. Seventy-six messages. Do you know how many times I called you, _Marinette_? Twenty-three. I called you twenty-three fucking times yesterday and all I get, all you do, is send me one, just _one_ measly text message at 4:37 PM. Would you like to know what it says, Marinette? I will tell you what it says--,”

“I know what it says, Alya.” Marinette murmurs quietly.

“It says, and I quote, ‘Now’s not a good time Alya, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you at school tomorrow.’ Period. That’s it. That’s all. All those calls, all those messages and that’s all I get from my best friend in world on the worst day of my life. Well, guess what, girl, it’s tomorrow, so we’re going to _talk_. I deserve some kind of explanation for all of this, and don’t give me your usual bullshit.”

Adrien is so angry he could punch Alya.

He bursts into the room and turns on the girls. Marinette looks shocked, sitting on the bench as Alya stands before her talking with her hands and pointing her fingers like a school principal. Alya looks up at Adrien and actually _snarls_.

“Get the hell outta here, pretty boy, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Fuck you, Alya.” Adrien says heatedly, and it’s Alya’s turn to look shocked. Because, honestly, Adrien doesn’t really curse. Maybe he’ll think it, sometimes he’ll say it to himself or Marinette, but he hardly ever says bad words out loud, let alone ‘fuck’, let alone to _Alya_.

“You don’t have a monopoly on the worst day of your life. Stop being such a selfish prick and leave Marinette alone.”

Soon enough, Marinette is going to be very angry at him for saying these things. She’s a capable, independent, confident person. Pretty much the strongest person Adrien knows, really. And if this was Chloe, or Sabrina, or even just some stranger telling her off, Marinette would stand up for herself without any problem, no questions asked. Alternatively, even though it is her best friend, if Alya was berating Adrien, Nino, Rose, her sisters, anybody in the world the way Alya is laying into her now, Marinette would let Alya have it, tell her she’s being an ass and to fucking stand down and _think_.

But it is Alya. And it is Marinette. And Marinette is going to sit here and take this because she thinks she deserves it and Adrien absolutely refuses to watch.

“I should have known you were in on this—whatever _this_ is!” Alya rages, turning to Adrien. “You’ve been _so_ chummy since Christmas, doing whoever the hell knows what, Nino and I barely _see_ you two anymore and you—,” Alya faces Marinette again, “Is that what you were up to, why you won’t say? Were you just sucking face with your boyfriend all day and you won’t own up to it? God, I liked you so much better when you just had that pathetic crush on him, couldn’t get your pansy-ass to even talk to him without stuttering--,”

_SLAP!_

Marinette and Alya both stare at Marinette’s now red hand held out between them. Alya holds her own hand to her now sore cheek, eyes bulging.

“What the FUCK--,” Alya roars pushing Marinette back square in the chest and Adrien looks back at the door to what he can see of the hallway because where the hell are all the teachers in this school?! Much as they may be romanticized, Adrien has absolutely no wish to see a girl fight right now.

“Mari--?” Alya says questioningly, and Adrien turns to see Alya halted in her tracks and Marinette curled up in the ball on the bench, fists clenched to her chest.

The middle of her chest. Right where Alya pushed her.

Right were less than two nights ago Adrien forced life back into her.

“Shit, _shit,_ Marinette, are you alright? How bad is it, can you breathe? How are your ribs?” Adrien asks, rushing to her side.

“Fine, no, stop, I’m fine, I promise, I’m fine.” If Adrien had a dollar for every time Marinette said that…well he’s already rich. But she says it far too often for his liking. She sits up, still clutching her chest and breathing deeply.

“How bad is it? Is it swollen? Ms. Bustier says her dad is a doctor, he could look at it and nobody else would have to know. Marinette, you gotta--,”

“What the fuck is going on?” Alya asks quietly. She’s gone to the locker room door and locked it, shoving a chair under it for good measure. “Nobody is leaving this room until I have an explanation.”

Adrien looks at Marinette, who looks at him. They both look back at Alya with sealed lips.

“God, you just, you _fuckers_ I thought I was your friend, I used to be your friend and now it’s all secrets and lies and—Marinette, yesterday was plain _awful_ , and the only person in the world I wanted to talk to was _you,_ and you weren’t there. You weren’t. And I sat there all day crying about Ladybug, then I just worried and worried because you weren’t responding and what if something happened to _you_? What if you were dead in a ditch somewh--,”

Alya stops abruptly.

She stares at Marinette, mouth open wide. She stares at Adrien, eyes bulging again. Then she leans against the lockers and slides down, face in her hands.

Later, Adrien will realize, this is why Master Fu and Tikki chose Marinette to be Ladybug.

Because never has Adrien questioned the fact that Marinette is a good Ladybug, or that she deserves it. He has always known her to be a good, kind, and completely brave person. But, though they are hard to find, there are other good, kind and completely brave people in the world, especially those who are not only thirteen years old when they are chosen.

When Alya stares up at them, crying, whispers of “Oh my God, oh my God, you’re _them_. You’re Ladybug. She’s alive. Marinette you almost _died_ , oh my God,” continuously leaving her lips, Marinette immediately sits next to her, puts an arm around her shoulders and holds her hand. She takes it when Alya yells at her, dries off Alya’s tears, accepts Alya’s apologies and makes apologies of her own.

Alya had the worst day of her life because she witnessed _Marinette_ having an even worse day. And Marinette is able to forgive and forget and take care of her friend, is able to empathize and sympathize and comfort while still struggling herself. She will not diminish the suffering of Alya in the face of her own, because Alya matters, too.

And that is why Marinette is Ladybug.

000

“I don’t know how to feel,” Alya says softly, looking up at Adrien and Marinette. “I’m so sorry I was such a fucking ass, I was just so mad and scared and sad….That’s a bad excuse, though. I was cruel and neither of you deserve that, especially right now.”

“It’s okay,” Adrien responds, his first words in a while.

“I’m sorry you found out like this,” Marinette says quietly. Not ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ because she’s not sorry for that. Alya shouldn’t have this burden, and Adrien knows Marinette is sorry that she does now. They have a reason for not telling others and this ever-widening circle is getting dangerous.

“I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out!” Alya laughs humorlessly, “God, I call myself an investigative journalist, what a load of crap. Jesus, Marinette, I owe you so many apologies, that stuff on the news yesterday, on the blog, oh _God_ \--,”

Marinette holds up a hand. “In your defense, you did tell me about them. I chose not to respond.” Alya rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ve spent years gushing about my idol to my best friend, turns out my best friend is my idol.” Alya smiles suddenly. “That’s probably the way it always should’ve been though, huh?”

Marinette bursts into tears.

000

In the end, all three of them miss history class, but they make it to the rest of their classes for the day. Ms. Bustier pulls Marinette aside at lunch, asks if she’ll come with her to her father’s office after school that day for a quick check-up. Adrien can tell Marinette is miffed that she’s been cornered into this by her teacher and her boyfriend of all people, but she agrees.

She doesn’t want Adrien to come with her, though.

“Why not?” Adrien asks hotly.

“It’ll be quick, I know nothing’s wrong, Adrien. Plus, I mean, it’s a doctor’s office, there’s probably, well--,” Marinette blushes, “You wouldn’t be in the exam room, anyway, so you’d just be in the waiting room with Ms. Bustier and that’s silly Adrien. I’ll come to your house right after and we can do homework together then.”

“Well, I don’t see why you don’t want me in the waiting room, you make me sound like some douche without any patience--,”

“Jesus, Adrien, no, I don’t think--,” Marinette takes a breath. “We’re being too clingy.” Marinette says simply.

Adrien gapes at her.

“You know it’s true. I just, I feel like I’m not even breathing all the way ‘til I’m with you again, I hate it when you’re not with me, I get so scared and I miss you so much and--,” Marinette closes her eyes. “I know you feel the same way. And it’s not healthy, Adrien. It’s not right. You can’t keep sleeping over every night, we’re only fifteen, someone’s going to catch us…We gotta learn to be apart. You need to realize I’m not going to fall down and die while you’re gone and I—I need to remember you’ll come back. You always come back.”

And Adrien’s heart breaks into a million little pieces, because this is the closest they’ve come to talking about Marinette dying. Adrien thought (assumed, hoped, prayed) she’d passed out when he and Tikki left. But apparently she’d still been conscious for a while, with just Plagg for comfort, bleeding out in horrible pain wondering why Adrien wasn’t coming back.

“Okay,” Adrien whispers, pulling Marinette into a hug. “Okay.”

000

_“You have t’go,” Marinette mumbles, “He’s gonna kill them, you hafta--,”_

_Marinette might as well have slapped him. “I can’t, I won’t_ leave _you Marinette, how could I--,”_

 _“Tikki, take Tikki. Stop it…Save them,” Marinette wheezes, “Save_ me _, Chat Noir.”_

 _Adrien bows his head and lets out a quiet sob. Oh God. Marinette is dying. Marinette is dying and the only way to save her is to leave her and how the hell did this even_ happen _?_

_“Claws in.” he whispers, and Plagg flies out in a wave of green to float by Marinette’s pale face. To give the comfort Adrien wishes he could, as he fails to hold the blood in Marinette’s tiny body._

_“Shit, kiddo, what have you done this time?” Plagg asks her quietly, resting a soft hand on her cheek._

_“Plagg, will it work? Can I take Tikki and be Ladybug? Will the Lucky Charm--,” Adrien asks desperately, unable to finish his last question. It has to work. It has to. There’s no other option, there’s no time--_

_“You can take Tikki,” Plagg answers, not taking his eyes away from Marinette’s glazed blue. “We have to be fast, though. Once Mari drops her transformation, she’s….well, it’s going to get worse.” Plagg finishes ominously, looking up at Adrien. “Tikki and I can get her earrings out and put them on you. Just hold the wound tight, and once you’ve got the earrings, end this. Fast.”_

_Adrien nods along, silently grateful that Pere made him pierce his ears._

_“A-Adrien, if it doesn’t work--,” Marinette chokes out, and blood dribbles down her chin._

_“It’ll work, Marinette. It’ll work, I promise.” It’ll work. It’ll work, It’ll work. It’ll work. It has to._

_Marinette closes her eyes and juts up her chin; it’s her tell when she’s about to cry. “I know, Chaton. I-I know. Just if—my parents. P-please, you gotta, you gotta tell them the t-truth.”_

_And here come the tears._

_“And tell ‘em I love them. S-so much. And I’m sorry.”_

_“Marinette--,” he sobs._

_“Love you, t-too, mon minou.” And then his lips are on hers and it’s short, so short, because she can hardly breathe, but he has to do it. He can’t leave without one last kiss. She tastes like iron and salt, and the kiss leaves his lips stained red with her blood._

_“Don’t die,” Adrien begs, leaning down his forehead to meet hers, “Please, please don’t die.”_

_“Kid, you gotta do this now,” Plagg admonishes. They are running out of time._

_Marinette gasps, “Spots off,” Then Tikki is there and Ladybug is gone, leaving tiny, young, Marinette Dupain-Cheng dying on a dirty rooftop in fluffy pink polka-dotted pajamas._

_Adrien wants to puke._

_“Hold her down! Don’t let her curl up like that kid!” Plagg shouts, and Marinette’s nose crunches as she attempts to curl up in a ball, trying to stave off the horrible pain she must be in._

_“Marinette, oh Marinette, it will be alright! You’ll be alright!” Tikki wails, peppering Marinette’s face with kisses._

_Adrien somehow manages to get his t-shirt off, and ties it as tightly as he can around Marinette’s torso. He slips his ring off his finger and on to Marinette’s as he feels Plagg click the second earring onto his ear._

_“You gotta go, kid.” Plagg whispers in his ear. “I’ll take care of her, I promise.”_

_Adrien nods, then leans down to kiss Marinette’s forehead._

_“I love you.” He says. Because he does, he loves her so much it scares him sometimes, “Tikki, spots on!”_

000

Marinette comes to find Adrien in the back garden, sitting in the rosebushes after her doctor’s appointment.

“Woah, your garden is _way_ bigger than I ever realized, I didn’t even know this was here!” Marinette grins, settling on a bench next to where Adrien is sitting. “Gosh, these roses are _gorgeous,_ I haven’t seen rose bushes this pretty is ages. Wow.” Marinette gushes, sounding delighted.

Adrien smiles softly, “Maman planted them when I was a baby. How did the doctor go?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks very much,” Marinette smirks, “Dr. Bustier checked my ribs, gave me a salve that should help the bruising, and said go to the ER if I get any weird pains in my chest. I’m not sure what Ms. Bustier told him, but he didn’t ask weird questions or anything so…I guess it’s good. I don’t know, it’s still so weird to me that the amount of people in the world who know we’re Ladybug and Chat Noir has doubled in one day.”

Adrien doesn’t hear very clearly after “I’m perfectly fine,” his ears roaring with the relief of it all.

“That’s good, then. That’s, that’s good.” Adrien says stupidly, shutting the book in his lap and standing up to join Marinette on the bench.

“Wait is that—were you sitting on a grave, Adrien? You, you’re not supposed to….” Marinette trails off, looking shocked and confused. Adrien supposes it does seem a bit irreverent to sit on the final resting places of others; not even Maman and Pere sat anywhere but the bench when they came to the rose bushes. But they never stopped Adrien when he plopped himself down, back resting against the headstone. He’s been doing it for as long as he can remember.

“Who’s Bridgette?” Marinette asks quietly.

“My sister.” Adrien answers simply.

“Your twin?” Marinette counters, finally realizing the dates on the tiny headstone. Adrien nods.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Adrien sighs. “My parents were in a really bad car accident, drunk driver hit them on Maman’s side of the car when she was seven months pregnant. It was—it was bad. Pere’s got all these horrible scars on his arm still, Maman almost died. Apparently I almost died. And Bridgette, well she did.”

Adrien always knew about Bridgette, it’s not like she was some deep, dark family secret. Maman just told him Bridgette was in heaven when he was small. It wasn’t until he overheard Nathalie and the new gardener talking about the grave in the rosebushes when he was ten that he learned about the car accident.

“I think that’s why Pere was so…disinterested when Nino wanted to throw me a birthday party. Pere’s never enjoyed the day very much, I think. He pretended when I was little, but it’s just a lot of bad memories for him.”

“That’s horrible,” Marinette says softly, putting her hand on his. “That’s just all, it’s awful. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry she’s not here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Adrien says, grim sort of smile on his face. “She makes me think, though, and Maman, and what happened Sunday, it’s just…” Adrien stops, unsure of exactly how to put his thoughts into words, now.

“Fu says there’s always a balance, a flow to everything. We’re the good to Hawkmoth’s evil, we’re the peace to his chaos, all that good stuff. But, there’s a balance to other things, too, this balance, this equivalence to life and the world and the universe….”

“You’re not gonna start quoting Fullmetal Alchemist to me, are you?” Marinette asks, quietly teasing.

God, he loves her.

“No, I’m not. And I’m not saying everything happens for a reason, I think that’s a load of bull, but I do think there’s this balance of good and bad. And none of it feels right, and sometimes the bad seems to just _pile_ on, and life isn’t fair. But when you’re in the worst of it, when it feels like the bad is just pouring on you, that’s when you value the good the most. That’s when you get strong, and it doesn’t, it can’t last forever. The bad can’t last forever because good will eventually find you again.

“It’s like the roses. You loved the roses when you first saw them, thought they were absolutely beautiful. And Maman would love that, would love that those roses brought you joy. But she wouldn’t have planted them if Bridgette didn’t die, if she wasn’t buried here. And of course, _of course_ , we would all much rather have Bridgette here than have pretty roses on her grave, but we can’t, so we have the roses and they spread some good, on this great and terrible thing that has happened.

“I’m not even making sense, I don’t know what I’m even trying to say--,”

Marinette grips his hand tightly, and he turns to look at her. Her eyes are full of tears, but there’s a smile on her face.

“No, you’re making perfect sense, Minou. You’re so…this is exactly why you’re Chat Noir. This is why they chose you. Because your power, it could be so dangerous, but you _see_ it, Adrien, you understand how good comes from bad, and bad from good, you’re given destruction yet with it you can save and create. It’s—it’s _miraculous_.”

Adrien bites his lip to hold back an unexpected sob, and grips Marinette’s hand back firmly.

“Was that a pun?"

And Marinette laughs, and laughs and laughs, and Adrien laughs, too, and maybe they aren’t good yet, but Adrien thinks they’re probably on their way to okay.

They are better.

And that’s miraculous, too.

000

_Adrien wakes to a soft tap on his window and pulls back his covers, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he goes to unlock the window._

_“Aww did I wake you from a cat nap?” Ladybug teases, jumping into the room._

_“Not that I don’t love seeing you, my lady, but what the hell are you doing here at one in the morning?”_

_Marinette smirks. “Suit up, Minou, I got a text from Alya. There’s a new akuma by the Trocadero, calls himself Javelot.”_

_“I do not find this timing a-track-tive,” Adrien yawns, and Marinette laughs out loud. “C’mon, Plagg, wake up.”_

_“Ugh, why?” Plagg whines._

_“Because we have to save the world.”_

_Plagg groans. “S’not the world, just Paris.”_

_“Well, unlike in the movie Armageddon, I find Paris very necessary, and I’d rather not see it destroyed.” Marinette quips, and Plagg gives her the side-eye._

_“As always, you’re a treasure, Ladybug.” Marinette grins._

_“Alright, Plagg, claws out!” Adrien calls, and the world turns green, sucking away Plagg and leaving Adrien as Chat Noir. “Ready?”_

_“Just been waiting on you, Chaton,” Marinette answers, jumping out the window as Adrien follows._

_“Woah, the stars are pretty tonight,” Adrien marvels, taking in what he can of the clear, twinkling black expanse as they swing and run toward the crashes and booms in the distance._

_“And to think, you wouldn’t have even looked if Javelot didn’t attack,” Marinette says, flashing him a quick grin._

_“It’s the little things, I guess.”_

_Maybe he and Marinette can go up to the Eiffel tower when this is all over. Maybe they can go sit and stargaze, they haven’t done that in a while. Even if they’re unlucky and this akuma takes too long, they’ll have a pretty great view for the sunrise._

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and Alya knows, too! lol umm yeah. I feel like she's just way too nosy and perceptive to miss something like that when she's so invested in Ladybug, and the one person she most wants to talk to when Ladybug is MIA also happens to be MIA. It wasn't the original plan, but it happened. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


	5. I do need sunshine - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah guess who said she was done then came back for more: ME! lol I'm such a liar, I'm so bad. Half of me is mad because I really love the ending of the last chapter. However, upon further reflection, I've realized that there's one person left in this story who got absolutely no closure. So I gave him some. It's not from Alya's POV like some of you asked, but she is very important in this chapter. 
> 
> And now, this story is actually, officially finished. Hope you enjoy!

_“At 00:45 hours we first received word of an akuma attack in the 16 th arrondissement, near the Place du Trocadero. The akuma was a 20-year-old male who called himself Javelot, armed with oversized shot-puts, discus, and javelins, with superhuman strength and the ability to brainwash others. Paris police first arrived on the scene at 00:49 hours, and our officers valiantly worked to contain the akuma’s attack to a four block radius. _

_“Ladybug and Chat Noir reached the scene at approximately 01:07 hours, and with their help Javelot and his destruction were contained to a single block radius._

_“At 01:28 hours, Ladybug saved a young child from being killed by intercepting Javelot’s javelin throw with her own body. She was immediately removed from the scene by Chat Noir to an undisclosed location. Chat Noir returned at 01:34 hours dressed in Ladybug’s suit. At 01:41 hours, Chat Noir defeated Javelot and used Ladybug’s lucky charm to cleanse the akuma before leaving the scene._

_“Using traffic cameras, security cameras, and eyewitness accounts, Paris police have been able to pinpoint the approximate location where Chat Noir left Ladybug after she was injured. We believe it to be a rooftop on Rue Scheffer, however because of the nature of the Lucky Charm, there is currently no evidence to support this claim._

_“Every hospital in this city, and the surrounding areas has been searched and contacted to be on the lookout for a girl roughly 5’2” and 105 pounds, aged 16-22 years with black hair and blue eyes who may have been admitted with penetrating trauma to the abdomen, though again, due to the nature of the Lucky Charm, this may not be the case. She’s likely to be accompanied by a male, also aged 16-22 years, roughly 5’10” and 150 pounds, with blonde hair and green eyes._

_“However, due to the nature of their suits and powers, those may not be their true appearances._

_“As of yet, we are unable to confirm nor deny the whereabouts or status of Ladybug or Chat Noir. We are working tirelessly to change this fact. If you have any information on Ladybug and/or Chat Noir, we ask that you please call the hotline below, or call 112 if you encounter either of them in person._

_“Any questions? Yes, you.”_

_“Can you confirm the claim that Javelot is actually Sorbonne University decathlete August Phillipe?”_

_“No, and we will not be disclosing the identity of Javelot at this time. Front.”_

_“Will Paris police be pressing charges against Javelot for his attack on--,”_

_“I find it incumbent to remind all of you that Javelot was one of the victims last night, not the villain. The only person we plan on arresting for last night’s catastophe is Hawkmoth. Yes, there.”_

_“Chief Raincomprix, what do you have to say about rumors circulating that the mayor’s office is already planning a funeral for Ladybug?”_

_“I say it’s premature. Until we’ve seen a body, anything is possible. However, nothing has been announced yet by the mayor, and it’s my understanding that the government has standard procedures in place for when tragedies befall high-profile people, in order to plan the necessary ceremonies in a respectable amount of time. You, in the back.”_

_“You gave the age range of 16-22 years when describing both Ladybug and Chat Noir; is this the police department admitting they’ve been allowing not just vigilantes, but possibly vigilantes who are_ minors _to operate uninhibited within the city?”_

 _“That was the police department giving a realistic description of both_ heroes _in order to aid in the search. The government, the police department, even the armed forces are working tirelessly to try and find a way to counteract the threat that Hawkmoth poses. As of yet, we have no answers._

_“But Ladybug and Chat Noir do. As difficult as it is for me to even fathom the idea that we’ve come to depend on children to keep us safe, it is impossible to deny that Ladybug and Chat Noir are effective. Paris would be destroyed ten times over if not for their efforts. We have no choice; we need Ladybug and Chat Noir, and the Paris police department will help them in any way we can._

_“No further questions.”_

_~_

_“And that was Paris Chief of Police Roger Raincomprix in a live press conference to discuss the Javelot attack last night and the fate of Ladybug, who was gravely injured during the attack. With me now I have Dr. Elena Aguilar, a trauma surgeon from the prestigious Hôpital universitaire Pitié-Salpêtrière, and Ms. Alya Cesaire, creator and editor of the popular Ladyblog, who witnessed the attack last night._

_“Ladies, thanks so much for joining us this morning.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“Thank you, Nadja.”_

_“Ms. Cesaire, to begin, how did you first hear about the Javelot attack?”_

_“I don’t live far from there, actually. I could hear the booms, and at first I thought there was a thunderstorm. Then the akuma proximity alert went off my phone, and I realized what was happening.”_

_“Why didn’t you evacuate? It’s my understanding that you’re fifteen years old. Is your family supportive of your…adventurous spirit?”_

_“Ummm—actually, Nadja, I’ve been grounded for quite a while by my parents for running off. I just—people follow my blog because I’m willing to dig deep and give them the scoop first-hand. I didn’t want to let them down._

_“Well, you certainly got the scoop last night, Alya. Viewers please be advised, what you’re about to witness is disturbing.”_

_~_

_“That’s just—it doesn’t get any easier to watch, no matter how many times you’ve seen it, does it? Anyway, Dr. Aguilar, based on the footage and your earlier discussion with Ms. Cesaire, what are your thoughts on Ladybug’s injuries?”_

_“To preface everything I’m about to say, we truly do live in an age of miracles. I’m not going to pretend I understand how Ladybug’s Lucky Charm and suit work. They may have healed her. It’s possible even Ladybug herself possesses superhuman qualities, there are just too many variables to factor in to draw any solid conclusions here._

_“However, I can say, with absolute certainty, if underneath that suit Ladybug is a normal human girl, and the Lucky Charm did nothing to heal her, she is dead.”_

CLICK.

“Auggie, why are you watching this?” Maman asks, putting the remote down and settling next to his curled up form on the couch, pulling his head into her lap. “Oh, my darling, it’s not your fault. It’s not. You weren’t in control, it wasn’t you! You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Maman’s hand stops brushing his hair long enough to brush the tears from August’s eyes. August knows he’s acting like a child, knows he should be should be stronger than this. He should be better than this.

It doesn’t change the fact that all he’s able to do now is lie down and cry.

“Maman, I killed her. You saw, I—I _impaled_ Ladybug. She died trying to stop me from murdering a _toddler_. I’m horrible--,”

“You’re not.” Maman says fiercely, fire in her eyes. “That puffed up red white and blue monster was not my baby. It was Hawkmoth’s monster, and you’re the victim Auggie, even the police say--,”

“So you were watching,” August mumbles, and Maman breathes hard.

“You aren’t a murderer, Auggie. You’re my son--,”

“Who says I can’t be both?”

000

Maman stops trying to get August to leave the house once the protesters begin gathering on the corner.

“Javelot has got to go!”

“Justice for our Lady!”

“Death to Javelot!”

The group is small, but motivated, and those protesters who leave always have others to replace them. They circle the street corner, sure to stay away from August’s front stoop, deterred by the two officers who had been stationed there when the first protesters showed up.

When video of Javelot turning back in to a traumatized August Phillipe first emerged online.

Turns out Alya Cesaire wasn’t the only person with her phone out that night.

If August were in a better headspace, he would be warmed by the number of people who come to his defense, who rush to his side and offer support. Friends on the team call and text by the hour, teachers from college send cards and balloons, his grandmother and aunt and cousins stop by for dinner. Even his track coach comes to visit in the afternoon, pulling him into a hug, voice gruff.

“You can’t be mad at yourself, Phillipe, about anything. You PR’d in every event kid, and I know four years seems like a long time, but you’re young, kid. You’re so young.

“Don’t let this sidetrack you now, you have too much potential, too much good in you for that. That bastard took advantage of you at a bad moment. It’s not on you, and I’ll tell you that every day until you believe it. Until I watch you win a gold medal in the decathlon if it takes that long.”

It’s nice of Coach to say, the nicest he’s ever been to August in fact, but it’s going to be a long, long time before August believes it. Before he’s able to forgive himself.

Because August may not remember being Javelot, may not remember killing Ladybug.

But he remembers before. He remembers sitting slumped on the curb after midnight, a bit of broken javelin he’d stolen from the track clutched in his hands. Just ten more centimeters. If his throw had been just ten centimeters longer, he’d have placed high enough, he’d have accumulated enough points to qualify for the French Olympic track team in the decathlon.

He thought it was the worst, the most horrible and devastated he would ever feel in his life.

Ha.  

Then there had been a butterfly in the night, and a voice whispering, bending his will, caressing his ego. Stoking his rage.

_“Strong, young Javelot, you have been wronged by the world tonight. You worked so hard, you deserved that spot. You deserved to win._

_“Bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses, and I promise you will.”_

Then August remembers waking up, remembers opening his eyes to see Chat Noir’s horrified, devastated _human_ eyes staring into his own.

That was the worst part. Because even with the Ladybug suit on, August knew the man (the boy, he was just a fucking _teenager_ ) was Chat Noir. But in the Ladybug suit, his eyes were human, human and green and wide with shock and tears and pure, unadulterated terror.

Every night in his dreams August sees those eyes. And every night August wakes up in tears.

000

_“And so, Paris, it is with a heavy heart that--,”_

_“Hello Mr. Mayor--,”_

_“We’re very sorry to bug you--,”_

_“But we’ve got a bit of an announcement of our own.”_

“AUGGIE!” Maman shrieks, running into the room, “Did you see, oh my goodness, she’s alive! She’s alive. See, oh you see, darling it’s fine! It’s all fine! She’s alive! Everything can go back to normal!”

August runs to the bathroom and pukes.

000

The protesters disperse. The policemen leave the stoop.

Maman doesn’t understand why August still won’t leave the house.

“Auggie, you did nothing wrong to begin with, and now nobody even has a reason to be irrationally angry with you. Ladybug’s alive! She’s alive, and it’s high time you started acting like you’re alive, too.” Maman harrumphs, opening the blinds and pulling the covers off his bed.

August curls up in a tighter ball.

How can he explain this feeling to Maman, this agony of drowning and being sucked dry all at once? Because it’s not about Ladybug being alive. Of course, _of course_ , he’s so relieved and grateful and so fucking happy she’s alive. But he feels so _violated_ still. He feels dirty and angry and sick and confused and guilty all at once all the time.

It’s exhausting.

All he wants to do is sleep, but then he’s woken by Chat Noir’s haunting green eyes, and Ladybug’s agonized shriek through the television and—

His life is a horrible circle. And he doesn’t know how to break it.

000

“Auggie, I have to go back to work. I’ve left you lunch in the fridge, and I’m expecting a package later this morning, I’ll need you to sign for me. Nana should be here at one.”

August thows up a thumbs up, burying his head further into his pillow. He looks up when he feels a soft hand petting his hair.

“I’ve made you an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Delacour.” August can see Maman prepping herself, waiting for the explosion that she’s sure will follow. August hates therapists, has hated them with a burning passion since he’d first been dragged to one when he was six.

When Papa died.

“Okay,” he says softly, turning back to his pillow. He hears Maman’s small intake of breath before she kisses his head.

“Don’t forget about the package.” Maman reminds him quietly.

And then she’s gone.

000

August wakes to the doorbell.

He pulls on a hoodie over the pajamas he’s been wearing for two days, and slips his slippers on his feet, dragging himself down the stairs to the front door. He opens the door without looking through the peephole.

He immediately regrets that decision.

“Uh—Mr. Phillipe? August?”

It’s Alya Cesaire.

Alya fucking Cesaire is at his door, flanked by two other kids, notebook and recorder clutched in her hands.

A quick foot keeps the door from slamming shut.

“OW! HEY! Shit, August, wait a minute. Your mother contacted me, said you were interested in telling your side of the story--,”

August opens the door and glares.

“Well, I am _not_ interested. It’s not like I remember all those great, juicy details your video caught, Ms. Cesaire, you know more than I do about that night. Let my mother know I’m never ‘signing for a package’ for her again, will you?”

August turns to close the door once again when a new voice pipes up:

“Ladybug and Chat Noir read Alya’s blog.” It’s one of the kids, a girl to Alya’s right. She’s small and willowy, wearing a sunhat and a pretty, yellow sundress. She pushes her glasses up her nose before continuing. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about what happened that night, but if you have anything you need to say to Ladybug and Chat Noir, anything you need them to know, this is your opportunity.”

Maybe it’s just the earnestness he can hear in her voice. Maybe it’s the fact that she looks like literal sunshine standing at his doorstep.

Either way, five minutes later August is sitting in his living room with three teenagers on the couch, asking if they’d like anything to drink.

“No we’re fine, thanks.” Alya responds. “I’m Alya by the way, but it seems you already knew that. My friends tagged along for this since we’re on our lunch break right now. There’s a café down the street we want to try. This is…” Alya trails off, gesturing to the sunshine girl.

“Oh, I’m-uh, Elise, my name’s Elise.” Elise looks to her right, at the boy on the end of the couch. He’s wearing a beanie, with thick black glasses laying hard on the bridge of his nose. He’s got on black skinny jeans, and a blue t-shirt with a picture of a hammer with the words, “This is not a drill” emblazoned at the top.

“Oh-Oh! My name is….Felix, yeah it’s Felix.”

Alya snorts, rolling her eyes. “Elise and Felix, try to say that one ten times fast.”

“Hey! I just, she—nevermind,” Felix grumbles. August realizes there is either something else afoot, or these bespectacled people are just rather odd.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

“Anyway, with your permission, I’d like to write an article about that night with your perspective in mind. Would you be willing to answer some of my questions?” Alya sees August hesitate and continues. “We can stop at any time, you don’t have to answer any questions you find uncomfortable and if you say anything you don’t want in the article, I promise to redact it. Cross my heart and hope to die, promise.”

August gulps.

“What would you like to know?”

000

Alya Cesaire, surprisingly enough, is not interested in speaking about his becoming an akuma, or the attack itself. No, Alya wants to know all about what happened _after_.

And August finds himself talking, open and animatedly, for the first time in days. He talks about going to the hospital, being treated for shock. He talks about the police station and the way his mother cried. He talks about how wonderful his friends and family have been during this difficult time. He explains how he felt like a ghost, watching a horrible parody of himself on the news, committing horrible acts he can’t remember.

He talks about the protesters, about the continuous heckling and the posters and cheers.

“What?” Felix gasps, shocked. “Are you kidding? That’s, that’s _awful_ , how can people be so cruel, you didn’t do any of that on purpose. How could they want you dead? That’s demented.”

August shrugs, and the interview continues.

And slowly, August unloads the weights that have been holding him down, crushing him into the floor since Saturday night. He’s certainly not good, not even okay, really.

But talking about it, saying his piece;

It makes him feel better.

000

“Ok, this one’s pretty personal, but I’m honestly curious. We don’t have to put it in the article if you don’t want to share. Anyway, when I was akumatized, waking up was a pretty scary experience. I didn’t remember how or why I was where I was, I was surrounded by destruction, and everybody treated me like I was a bomb or something, just waiting to explode. I was wondering if you could speak to your experience….” Alya trails off, lost in thought. Elise pats her hand and gives her a sad smile.

“Honestly—they say it was shock, I was in shock, but everything’s pretty hazy and my memories from right after jump around a lot.” August sighs, “I do—I do remember Chat, though. I woke up kneeling on the ground, and he was in front of me, staring.

“It was just a second, it couldn’t have been more than a second and then he literally _flew_ away, and everybody, all the police and paramedics, they wanted to follow but he was so fast, trying to get back to Ladybug probably.

“But that second, God, it sounds weird but I keep dreaming about it. Because, as Chat Noir he’s got those cool cat eyes, but as Ladybug they were normal and human and he was—he was terrified. He was fucking terrified and desperate, and he’s, they’re both so _young_ , and I never realized it before, they’re definitely younger than me, probably around your guys’ age.

“He looked like the world had just ended, and since he was looking at me I figured I caused it. Then I found out about Ladybug, and well, turns out I did.” August looks away, out the window, drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

“It’s not your fault.” Elise says firmly, and August turns back to stare at her. Her blue eyes are hard and bright, shining through the lenses. “Even if Ladybug stayed dead, it’s not your fault. It’s Hawkmoth’s.”

He’s been told the same thing literally hundreds of times in the past few days.

But for some reason, when this sunshine girl says it, August is nearly inclined to believe.

000

“Last one: If Ladybug and Chat Noir were here right now, what would you want to say to them?”

That makes August pause, which is honestly odd because this question was the entire reason he agreed to do the interview in the first place. He knows what he wants to say, can feel what he needs to say;

August just wishes he could know what Ladybug and Chat Noir thought about it.

And not just in some blog post later, or an exclusive interview with Nadja Chamack. August wants to sit, and look Ladybug and Chat Noir in the eyes and say:

“I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m so, so sorry for the physical and emotional pain that I’ve caused you. People keep telling me it’s not my fault, I didn’t have a choice, but I did. Yeah I was manipulated and coerced and maybe magic was involved, who the hell knows, but he gave me a choice and I said yes. And maybe if I were a stronger person I would’ve said no.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say no. And thank you. Thank you, Chat Noir, for saving Paris, for saving me from myself. Thank you Ladybug for saving that little boy. It was horrible and devastating to see the way I hurt you but if—if he--,” August chokes, looking up. “I don’t know how I would’ve lived with myself after that.”

August looks down, back at the teenagers on the couch. Alya has removed her glasses and is wiping her eyes. Elise and Felix are holding hands. Felix is biting his lip; Elise’s chin is jutted out, and both are misty-eyed.

Both are also staring him right in the eye.

“You know, M-Elise,” Felix says suddenly, taking off his glasses to rub the lens on his shirt, “If Ladybug and Chat Noir were here, I feel like I know what they’d say.”

Elise smiles. “Yes, Felix, I think I do, too.” She takes off her sunhat and unwinds two hairbands from her wrist, promptly pulling her black hair back into pigtails. “Well, first Ladybug would do this, because she’s wanted to for about an hour now,” and Elise stands up and rushes to August’s chair, pulling him swiftly into a tight hug.

It takes August about ten seconds to hug her back, he’s so dumbfounded.

Elise finally pulls back and stands before August; she’s not much taller than him while he’s sitting down.

“And then she would say,” Elise whispers, taking off her five euro drugstore glasses and piercing him with her bluebell eyes, “There’s truly nothing to forgive, August. But I do understand, and I forgive you. Now you need to start forgiving yourself.”

“And I think,” Felix adds, coming to stand next to Elise and pulling off his grey beanie to reveal a mop of golden blond hair, “Chat Noir, well, first he’d say thanks for calling his eyes cool, because it’s absolutely true. But then, he’d say,” and Felix’s voice grows lower and serious, his green eyes wide, “I forgive you, too. And I’m sorry for scaring you, August.

“And then he would, of course, add the request to please dedicate your future Olympic gold medal in the decathlon to Ladybug and Chat Noir and then you’ll definitely be good forever.” Felix finishes, happy grin on his face. It makes his eyes squint, and he winks at August.

August’s brain implodes.

“Oh my God,” he whispers, and if he wasn’t already sitting down he would have fallen. As it is he falls backwards, head resting against the back of the chair.

“Pretty sure those were the first words I said when I found out,” Alya says, coming up behind Felix and Elise.

Behind Chat Noir and Ladybug.

“Oh my god.”

“Those were my second words, too.”

“You’re _them._ ”

“Now I’m pretty sure you’re just reading some script; am I really that cliché guys? Did I say the predictable thing? Damn, what a letdown on my part.” Elise rolls her eyes at Alya, and Felix laughs, although…August is beginning to realize those probably aren’t their names.

Well, he knows the names that matter right now.

“How the hell has nobody figured you out yet?” August asks admiringly.

“We’re masters of disguise,” Chat Noir proclaims, waving his hands, “Paw-sitively purr-fect at covering our tracks.”

Ladybug bats down his hands fondly, shaking her head. “Pretty sure it’s magic. And probably a whole lot of luck.”

“Isn’t that the same thing for you?”

Ladybug just grins.

000

2024

_“If he can finish the 1500 in under 3:53, August Phillipe will not only clinch to gold for himself, but he’ll break the Olympic decathlon record set by Roman Serberle 20 years ago.”_

_“And here they are, rounding the second-last curve…..Phillipe is breaking away from the pack, I don’t believe it, he’s going to win this Chad!”_

_“Not just this event, Mark, but the entire the decathlon….and, here…YES! August Phillipe has just won the 1500 with a time of 3:51.47 putting his point total at a whopping 8972 for a shiny gold medal and a new Olympic record.”_

_“And what a special moment this is to witness, a Frenchman winning France’s first gold medal in the Olympic decathlon, in his home city of Paris. If that’s not serendipity, I don’t know what is. We go live now to Vanessa down on the track. Vanessa?”_

_“Hi Mark, Chad, I’m here now with August Phillipe, gold medalist in the decathlon and new Olympic record holder. August, how are you feeling? Is there anything you’d like to say?”_

_“Just thank you to everyone who’s supported me: my coaches, my friends, my family. I couldn’t have done any of this without their love and support, most especially my mother. I’ve got a promise to keep though, so this event, this medal; it’s for Ladybug and Chat Noir.”_

“Oh my God he actually remembered. He fucking did it! Oh my God, it was supposed to be a joke, Marinette, he dedicated a gold medal to us instead of his mother, oh my God.”

Marinette laughs so hard she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien both trying to pull off a Clark Kent made me smile really big. Also, with the name thing, I'm going to pretend Marinette's middle name is Elise, so then Adrien said Felix because that's his (my headcannon) middle name for him...and yeah. I did do track and field in high school, but I knew nothing about decathlon event order or points or anything before this, so sorry if in my googling I got it wrong. Same goes for french words and locations because I'm an American who took Spanish in high school. 
> 
> Thank you so much to those who have left kudos and left such wonderfully thoughtful comments for this story. They make me really happy. Also, this story may be finished, but I do plan on continuing the 'Teacher Knows Best' series, so be on the lookout for some fun one-shots where Ms. Bustier acts like Alfred and maybe Alya gets to be Ned from spider-man.


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